


Rebirth

by darker_descent



Series: Mutualistic Parasitism [2]
Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death Fix, Comic Book Science, Developing Relationship, F/F, Family, Fix-It, It/Its Pronouns for Venom Symbiote, Life Foundation (Marvel), M/M, Motherhood, Other, POV Alternating, Romance, Symbiotic Relationship, They/Them Pronouns for Venom Symbiote, Trust Issues, Unethical Experimentation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 03:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19862578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darker_descent/pseuds/darker_descent
Summary: In the aftermath of Dora’s and Eddie’s experiences with the Life Foundation, both will have to deal with the resulting interpersonal conflicts, be that with humans or extraterrestrials.“It felt like he was…pulling the strings.”Eddie didn’t have to ask who she was talking about.“And maybe I’m just paranoid,” she continued, “but even though I know he’s gone, it still feels like he…like he left a piece of himself behind.”EDIT: discontinued indefinitely!! just not really passionate about this story anymore





	1. New Beginnings

A figure moved carefully through the darkness, but with no real precision. It was evident in the way this figure swayed that they had no previous experience in stealth. Sticks and dirt crunched under their feet, no matter how light their steps. But despite their obvious inexperience, the figure was able to avoid the bright searchlight of a police helicopter that was surveying the area.

As soon as the light passed over, the figure moved from stealth to haste, stumbling down a steep rock, tripping and catching themself just before they would have plummeted over the edge and toward water shallow enough that it wouldn’t save them from splitting their head open on the shore.

Finally, they came to the ladder-like steps leading down to the small Point Diablo Light, a lighthouse that somehow seemed even smaller up close. Making it there was accomplishment enough, but it wasn’t the end goal. And so the figure continued to descend, down and down and down more steps, seemingly endless in the foggy depths of night. Then once those were done there were just a few more before the figure stood on the dark, wet rock where they could reach down and dip their fingers in the water.

They took a breath, knowing they were at the point of no return. They pulled aside their coat and reached deep into their pant pocket. The contents squelched when they grabbed on, and the item left a trail of fluid that would have stained if their pants were not a similar scarlet.

Though they cringed, the figure succeeded in pulling the rabbit’s head out of their pocket. They didn’t dare look at it too long, in fear that their nausea would spill over into vomit. The figure took another deep breath, then crouched down to dangle the head over the waters. They weren’t entirely sure about how deep these waters were, but hopefully shallow enough that sharks could be avoided, despite the scent of blood undoubtedly filling the bay.

The figure stayed crouched there for a long, long moment. And then, by a miracle, the water jumped up and latched onto the rabbit’s head.

The figure immediately reeled back their hand, throwing the head onto the ground as carefully as possible. Then from their other hand came a small transparent container, which they brought down on the head. With precision that showed practice, the figure slid the cover over the container without allowing anything to escape.

They brought the container to eye-level, and from there they could see the dark chunk of goo squirming around inside.

The figure grinned. “Hello, beautiful.”

* * *

“Abbey, Theo!” Dora called, rushing up the stairs and knocking harshly on the guest room’s door. “We need to leave  _ now.” _

She looked down at her watch, then back up at the door, rapping her knuckles against it once again. Her voice rising in octave with her anxiety, she called them again. “Abbey? Theo?”

“I’m in the bathroom, Mom,” came Abbey’s voice.

“Where’s Theo?” Dora asked, her eyes widening in panic.

“I don’t know!” Abbey said back.

“You  _ don’t know?” _ Dora said. She turned the guest room’s door handle. Locked.

**Should we break it down?**

She considered it, allowing her symbiote to form a large fist around her own. Just as she was about to make her decision, she heard the door  _ click _ unlocked. Dora put her hands behind her back, her symbiote quickly receding back under her skin. And then came Theo, walking nonchalantly out the guest room, headphones over his ears.

Dora sighed. “Theo,” she said annoyedly, pulling the headphones off.

“Hey!” he said, jumping to try and grab them.

“You’re going to be late if you don’t hurry,” Dora said. “Now go have breakfast. Your cereal’s already on the table.”

Theo whooped, snatching the headphone back as soon as Dora let them dangle low enough. He hopped down the stairs, and the sliding of chair against hardwood floor signaled that he was going to start eating.

“One kid down,” Dora mumbled. Then, louder, “Abbey? Are you almost done in there?”

“Give me a  _ minute!” _ Abbey snapped.

Dora sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

**She shouldn’t be so rude to you,** her symbiote said.

“I know,” Dora said. “But she’s so stressed. We all are.”

**That’s no excuse for her behavior.**

“Right now I just need to get her out of the house,” she said. “Lectures can wait until—”

She was cut off by Abbey opening the bathroom door, slinging her backpack over her shoulder and scowling with teen tiredness. Her tightly-coiled black hair had been put in a quick bun, as compared to her usual style of letting it frame her face. She wore a loose white T-shirt with a with a faded picture of Garfield (the iconic orange cat), a pair of washed-out jeans, and a pair of light pink sneakers.

“Hi, Abbey,” Dora said. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” Abbey said, pausing for a second before walking down the stairs.

“I made you bacon and eggs,” Dora said, following her to the downstairs. “It might be a little cold by now, though.”

“That’s fine,” Abbey said. “Thanks, Mom.” She grabbed the plate off the counter and took a seat at the dining table.

Theo was still working on his cereal, which usually took him a decent amount of time, since he oddly enough preferred for the cereal to get as soggy as possible before eating it. It was a preference Dora hadn’t expected of such a kid who otherwise fit the bill of a more traditionally picky child (no crust on sandwiches, no oddly-textured vegetables), but she wasn’t going to complain, especially since that meant she could pour the milk ahead of time.

Dora checked her watch. “Okay, okay, time for everyone to leave,” she said. Abbey and Theo took the last bites of their breakfasts, Theo lingering a little on his cereal until Dora gave him a look. Then they both moved to the door, Abbey double-checking her bag before definitively putting it on her back. Theo immediately put his huge bag on his back, stumbling with the weight. Abbey took hold of his shoulder and righted him, rolling her eyes. Theo didn’t see that last part, but Dora did, which earned Abbey the hairy eyeball.

“You ready, buddy?” Abbey said, ruffling Theo’s hair and smiling apologetically at Dora.

“Yeah,” he said, swatting Abbey’s hands away and ruffling his own hair up.

Dora walked them outside where they hopped into Dawn’s small, non-family-sized car. Dora’s was still parked at the Life Foundation, so the kids were forced to carpool this way.

“Bye,” Dora said. “Love you.”

Abbey nodded silently, and Theo blew her a dramatic kiss. Then they closed the door and they were off, leaving Dora sighing on the steps.

“She’s just in a phase,” she said to herself as much as her symbiote.

**If she’s rude to you again, I’ll deal with her,** her symbiote said.

“No, no,  _ I’ll  _ deal with my kids,” Dora said.

**You don’t trust me?**

Dora sighed, stepping back into the house. “Of course I do.” Generally speaking. “Just…”

**Not with this.**

She closed the door behind her without a word. Then she said, “We should keep job-searching.”

Her symbiote, however displeased it was by this change in subject, silently agreed. Dora took a seat on Dawn’s couch — which, in the week Dora had spent here, had acted as bedroom and office space — and took her laptop off the coffee table, placing it onto her lap. The Life Foundation was closed indefinitely, and it was still under physical investigations, but Dora had been fortunate enough that the police had searched and returned her bag quickly. They didn’t find anything on her laptop except information already released, and the Life Foundation’s servers had been wiped by some unknown force. Maybe there was an automatic mechanism Drake had set up to erase evidence of their crimes, or maybe one of the many missing employees had done it themselves.

Dora knew the names of most of the people missing. The majority of them were her colleagues, the ones who had been participants in the symbiote project.

Carlton Drake had also been classified as “missing,” and with the server wipe had gone any trace of security footage from the past month, including that of the rocket launch. It had left the authorities with no trace of the most recent research project except for a slew of corpses, human and animal alike. Dora remembered one news article bluntly stating that the majority had died from organ failure, but that a few had died from malnutrition, and there was one case of stabbing. None of the articles she’d read had given the names of the deceased, but Dora could gather some of it by process of elimination.

Dora shook her head. This wasn’t the right time to think about this. She had sorted things out with the authorities. After extensive questioning from the police, Dora had been established as innocent, no matter how much she felt she deserved that (but she wasn’t about to argue, not when she had the important responsibility of motherhood weighing on her, not to mention having to keep her new… _ partner _ a secret). Her house had been searched for “security reasons,” as the police put it, with Dora only being allowed to come back for clothes and food after two days of their search. That had been two days without Theo’s favorite cereal, since Dawn worked full-time during the day and Dora was currently carless and card-less.

Speaking of her credit card, it had been lost to the depth of the oceans along with her driver’s license, keys, and what few dollar bills and coins she had in her wallet. It had been relatively simple to replace everything, though still a hassle, but it was taking her card longer to get to her than she had hoped.

Maybe it was for the best, really. It gave her an excuse to let Dawn buy food when Dora was, for the foreseeable future, no longer employed at the Life Foundation…or anywhere. She was supposed to receive some form of severance pay after the company’s fall, but she didn’t expect it anytime soon, not with the extensive investigation going into the most recent research project.

There was the sudden  _ splap _ of her symbiote’s tendril hitting the computer screen, shocking Dora out of her thoughts.

**This one,** it said, pseudopod gesturing at a job title.  **It looks promising, Dora.**

She squinted. “A job at the aquarium?” She couldn’t help but be excited at the prospect. There was a chance there weren’t many (or any) more exciting jobs open, such as those related to research, but the idea of working with marine animals was incredibly appealing, especially in comparison to her old career.

She clicked for more information. To her disappointment, the Aquarium of the Bay didn’t have any research jobs open for application. But to her luck, there was an opening for a veterinary position.

It took only a few minutes for Dora to draft an email with her resume and proposition, but it took a few more minutes for her to look it over again and again before finally hitting “send.”

This was, of course, one of many jobs she had applied for. Thus far she hadn’t received any replies, not even one from a job she was severely overqualified for. She supposed the ex-employee of a recently dismantled business empire wasn’t anyone’s first choice for when looking through applications.

She checked the time in the upper right corner of her computer screen. It was hardly eight o’clock, meaning she had a good two hours before meeting Eddie for coffee. That was more than enough time to call her parents, who had insisted she check in with them every day since the rocket explosion.

**Check the news first,** her symbiote suggested.

“Good call,” Dora agreed, opening her phone’s news app to see if there was anything world-shattering being reported. There were new articles on the Life Foundation, of course, and a lot of pieces about Eddie. It was his pictures that acted as the proof of the Life Foundation’s humanitarian abuses, since all other evidence had been wiped without a trace. For that, he was a bit of a celebrity.

Dora kept scrolling, the past few days having numbed her to the same variation of headlines about the “Cancer-Curing Foundation Shut Down!” or “Carlton Drake’s Corruption.” But her fingers paused at one title, accompanied by a picture of familiar faces. Her thumb pressed down to select the article titled “Have a Nice Life.”

“With the recent revelation of the Life Foundation’s corruption also comes a multitude of issues for the public,” it read. “While we can no doubt be relieved that something has been done about the strictly unethical experiment methods of the organization, where does its absence leave us and its employees?

“The answer may be surprising. While most people would expect many arrests by this time, only up to a dozen have been announced, despite the Life Foundation’s employee base spanning into the hundreds. All of these arrests have been of the members of Carlton Drake’s secret death squads, the existence of which became undeniable after the events that unfolded this October, at first labeled a mysterious terrorist attack and then uncovered as the work of the Life Foundation’s strike force.

“To the shock of many, there are currently no scientists or other high-level employees that have been arrested. In fact, there are a startling number of scientists who have seemingly disappeared, giving the police no leads on their whereabouts. This has received outrage from the public for many reasons, some of them being the demand to know the details of the Life Foundation’s secret experiments. For clues, investigators looked to the woods behind the Life Foundation, and there they found buried a multitude of bodies. The numbers have not been released yet, but the causes of death have been confirmed. However, they give little insight to what experiments were occurring. Autopsies have shown the most common cause of death to be the failure of vital organs, but there are some cases of death via gunshot wounds.”

The article went to list the few known deaths, but Dora stopped at the first, the first written confirmation of it too jarring for her to continue.

The two employees Dora had known the best (which wasn’t saying all that much) had been Rosie Collins and Lloyd Emerson. Collins she would occasionally have coffee with during their rare breaks, and Emerson she would see at any of the high school’s events that they were both able to make. His daughter, Isabelle, went to the same school as Abbey and had become good friends with her.

Dora anxiously chewed on her thumbnail. Abbey never talked much about school anyway, but it was somehow worrying to Dora that she hadn’t said  _ anything _ about it.

“I hope Isabelle is there,” Dora said.

Her symbiote didn’t respond, but she could sense its doubt.

She sighed. “You’re right. She’s dealing with a lot. It’s better for her to have time away.”

**But not better for Abbey.**

“No,” Dora said, getting the feeling that her symbiote didn’t fully understand, but not having the words to explain.

There was a small period of silence, in which Dora attempted to sense what her symbiote was thinking. In the week they had been together, she hadn’t gotten much better at it. She could only glean certain things on occasion, simple concepts of disagreement or contentment.

“Maybe I should let Abbey and Theo stay home,” Dora mumbled.

**Why? You’re not dead.**

“It’s just… They’re going through a lot right now.”

**They can handle it,** it said with little sympathy.

Dora pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed deeply. She felt her symbiote materialize, and looked to see a small version of its toothy face peeking out from under her collar. It didn’t come out far, Dora barely being able to see it even when she tilted her head. It was smartly deciding to keep a low profile, even in private.

**“Is something wrong, Dora?”** it asked, smile still present but its eyes titling in concern.

She stared at it for a long moment, at the veiny patterns of gold that streaked through blue; at the shine in its eyes, which looked white from a distance but up close refracted all the colors of the rainbow; at its lipless grin laced with rows of blunt teeth. For a long moment she considered saying something else, but all she could manage was, “I should call my parents.”

Its eyes un-tilted, reverting from a U-like shape back into their original almond-shaped form.

**“Of course,”** it said, receding back under her skin.

She sighed, took out her cellphone, and then took a deep, shaky breath and began to dial. There was no need for her to do so. It would be quicker to go into her contacts and tap her mother’s name.

Her movements were slow, tedious, unhurried. Meant to prolong the moment.

**You’re nervous,** her symbiote said, partly a question, partly a statement.

“Yes,” Dora said, staring intently at the screen. There were only three digits left.

**Why?**

She considered it. She had never been apprehensive about it before, at least not this much. Maybe it was the fact that she was currently jobless, or that a large factor in that is that she helped kill her boss, or that she was secretly harboring an extraterrestrial in her body.

Her thumb hovered over the first of the last three digits. It was prepared to click, and her other thumb was equally ready to carry out the simple motions, ending with the press of the bright green “call” button.

Her thumb hovered over the first of the last three digits. It clicked down on “delete,” removing all the digits of the number she had previously typed. She shut off her phone and pressed it to her forehead, groaning in frustration. It was really such a simple task, and yet why couldn’t she do it?

Her symbiote shifted curiously inside her, wordlessly questioning her hesitation.

“What am I supposed to tell them?” Dora said. “‘Mom, Dad, I have a new roommate, and it’s…’” She paused. That didn’t feel right.

“It’s…” she said again and shook her head. “I don’t feel like I should call you that.”

**‘It’?**

“Yes,” Dora said. “I feel like I’m being rude. Do you want to be called something else?”

**It doesn’t matter,** her symbiote said.  **It, she, they. Whatever makes you comfortable, Dora.** It paused for a moment, shifting again.  **But not ‘he.’ That one…doesn’t fit.**

“It doesn’t?”

**No,** it said, and was silent again. Dora waited, she could feel it thinking but couldn’t find any insight into its thoughts.

**‘She’ would work best,** her symbiote finally said.

“Okay,” Dora said simply, and a mixed feeling of content and apprehension appeared in the pit of her stomach, a strange combination that Dora could only vaguely understand. The feeling itself reminded her of the look of Abbey’s face after Dora had agreed to call her by “she.” Dora was similarly content, having unintentionally shifted the subject away from her parents, as well as establishing what felt like a new level of trust between her and her symbiote.

Suddenly her phone buzzed in her hand, and Dora snapped to attention, expecting the name on the display to be Abbey’s. Instead it was Dawn’s, who was sending Dora an update text.

“The kids are at school, I’m at work. You better be grateful!”

It was hard to tell if the last sentence was said with humor or anger. Maybe it was both.

Dora didn’t bother replying, instead opting to stare at her phone for a solid few seconds, a part of her still expecting another message to pop up with Abbey’s name on it. When there was no new activity, she shoved her phone into her pocket and stood up abruptly, her body teeming with the urge to  _ do  _ something. She needed to get out of her own head.

**If it weren’t for the rumors that Venom started about giant monsters,** her symbiote said, **I would suggest we go swimming.**

“We can still go swimming,” Dora said. “Just not in the bay.”

**Unfortunate.**

“You’re telling me,” Dora said, recalling just a few nights ago when her symbiote had taken the two of them deeper underwater than Dora could’ve ever been by herself. She could obviously still go to the pool with her, or maybe even the beach, but there was something about being so deep and seeing so much life that was just incomparable to either option.

**With some time, I could rework your lungs,** she offered. **Then we can swim more inconspicuously.**

“I’ll keep the idea in mind,” she said. “For now, how about a walk?”

**Don’t forget the keys.**

“Right,” Dora said, taking the spare keys off the kitchen table. Dawn had been kind enough to allow Dora to use them, in addition to staying at her residence. Once she was back on her feet, she would have to find some way to thank her. Probably something like an extravagant gift basket, or maybe something homemade. The kids could even pitch in, Dora thought for half a second before chuckling and realizing no, they wouldn’t want to do that.

She began the walk at a brisk pace, which she found was much easier to maintain these days than it had been previously.

**You’re welcome.**

Dora didn’t offer a reply, considering they were in public. She could only give a quiet, amused scoff as she continued on her way, down Hayes street and then up Scott, passing by Alamo Square Park. As she walked past, she noticed a few people in the park turning their heads toward her, giving her looks of befuddlement. It was then that she realized just how fast her brisk pace had gotten, a walk turning to a light jog that had her going just not quite as fast as the cars on the road. She slowed the jog to a speed-walk, anxiously tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

She felt her symbiote eyeing the people at the park, almost sizing them up, ready to strike if they made the wrong move.

“Stop that,” Dora hissed. “It’s fine.”

She conceded, taking her focus off the park, but not without a nauseating sensation appearing in Dora’s stomach, then fading as quickly as it appeared, turning into a mild pain in her side.

“Should I be worried about that?” she whispered, earning her a brief sidelong glance from a passing pedestrian.

**No,** she said, and the pain disappeared.  **It’s fine.**

Dora swallowed, but she didn’t say anything in response. She just kept moving forward until she came to their destination, which was barred off by yellow police tape and a swarm of police vehicles.

She surveyed her house. Clearly it wasn’t untouched, since the officers had a warrant that allowed them to investigate it for what Dora deemed to be way too long. But other than the front door being off its hinges, there didn’t appear to be much damage (barring the broken upstairs window, which Dora couldn’t currently see but still knew about).

Eddie’s apartment was similarly blocked off, which Dora only knew through news articles and one call with him, in which he bitched about the situation. (She would have bitched about it too, but Dawn happened to be around and she didn’t want to be rude.) There had been plenty of questions about that, but Dora always gave the same reply to any and all reporters or police officers who asked her.

“I can only assume it was because I told Brock about the Life Foundation’s human rights abuses,” Dora said. “The last thing Drake wanted was for any of that to get out, and so Brock and I became targets.”

Eddie had been officially and unofficially interrogated a few days after Dora, since Anne’s boyfriend (whose name continued to slip her mind) had told the police he was in shock and in no state to give a statement (which to his credit was completely true). Thus Eddie’s misfortune did have its benefits, since it allowed Dora to review with him what she had told interviewers, so their story stayed completely consistent.

**Very smart,** her symbiote commented, making it apparent that she was currently in tune to Dora’s inner musings, and finally willing to comment on them.

“Thank you,” Dora said, not realizing she said it so loud until a gaggle of police officers stopped their conversation to look at her. They turned to each other again, said some inaudible but evidently serious things, and then one of them approached Dora.

“That was less smart,” Dora mumbled to herself, and put on a smile for the officer. “Hi!” she said cheerfully, and the officer jumped a bit at her loud enthusiasm.

“Uh…hi,” he said. He cleared his throat. “What are you doing here? The premises are closed off.”

“Which is why I’m behind the yellow tape,” Dora said, still cheerfully, but with an edge under it that the officer didn’t seem to appreciate, his eye twitching. “I’m just looking. I live here, and I’m trying to make an estimate on when I’ll be coming back. Since no one’s told me.”

The officer gave her a look, one that Dora could easily interpret as meaning “Fuck off” (her kids gave her the same look sometimes, of course without the same frightening aggression).

**If he keeps looking at you that way,** she said,  **I’ll hurt him.**

“Well,” Dora said, “since I can see we’re not hitting it off, I’ll be going now. Not engaging,” she added pointedly. She began to walk away, but then she decided to turn back and say, “Also, please have someone contact me.”

The officer gave her a forced smile and nod, which Dora returned with just as much insincerity.

“Ugh,” she mumbled as she turned to walk away. She checked her watch, and it seemed about time to head to that coffee shop she and Eddie had planned to meet at. It was closer to Eddie’s apartment than it was to Dora’s or Dawn’s, but it was still somewhat between, and Dora didn’t mind the walk. Eddie apparently liked to work there on occasion, which Dora couldn’t really understand. Maybe he was trying to make himself seem smart, since in Dora’s experience at coffee shops, no one got anything done except for completing their daily task of staring blankly at a text document.

“It’s antediluvian, sure,” Eddie had said of the café, chuckling a bit, “but I like it. Makes me nostalgic.”

After looking up what antediluvian meant, she was tempted to call him back just to make a remark on his nostalgia for the biblical Flood. But then again, there was the whole… _ Venom thing _ . It made jokes feel a bit inappropriate, at least coming from her.

**I’m not looking forward to this,** her symbiote grumbled.

“Me either.” Dora sighed. From her career as a mother she had learned a certain delicacy, but never had she had to comfort her children in times of grieving. Her father’s parents had died when Dora was young, too young for her children to even be born. And her grandparents on her mother’s side had passed a few years before she adopted Abbey and Theo. She hadn’t been much of a comfort to either of her parents at the time, which for her dad could be credited to her youth, and for her mom could be credited solely to inexperience. She didn’t anticipate that any attempts to comfort Eddie, should he need it, would go well at all.

**You shouldn’t worry,** she said.  **It’s not your job to accommodate him.**

And even if that was somewhat true, she couldn’t agree. She wanted to communicate this disagreement better, but all Dora did was shake her head, currently unable to verbalize the complications and responsibilities that came with human friendships.

“Let’s just get this over with.”


	2. Heartburn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Dora have a casual conversation, one which can’t quite take Eddie’s mind off of recent events.

Eddie sat at one of the coffee shop’s old wooden tables, bouncing his leg anxiously. He looked down at his mug, the side of which a fly had taken residence on. He made eye contact with it, and for just a moment he wondered how it would taste to bite down into it. Like a small candy, an appetizer, juicy and—

The fly buzzed away, and Eddie considered that he should’ve gotten decaf.

The bell above the door chimed, signaling a customer entering, and Eddie looked to see Dr. Skirth. Her eyes scanned the establishment, and Eddie raised his hand to signal her over. She nodded at him, then got in line to get something to drink. That left Eddie to continue tapping his finger against the tabletop for another few minutes, earning him annoyed looks from other customers who were too chickenshit to actually say anything about it to his face.

It didn’t take long for Dora to get her coffee. She sat down across from Eddie and went to take a sip from her mug, then looked at the steam rolling out of it and put it down on the table.

“Hey, Skirth,” Eddie said, giving her a little wave. “How’s, uh. How are the kids?”

“They’re holding up,” Dora said honestly. “They’re not exactly having the time of their lives, but they’ll survive. I’m just hoping we can go back home soon.”

“You and me both.”

“That reminds me,” she said, putting her finger to the lip of the mug’s lid, “where have you been staying?”

“Oh, y’know,” Eddie said, watching a subtle strand of blue extend from her fingertip and into the coffee. Seeming satisfied, Dora picked up the mug and took a sip.

“I don’t know,” Dora said. “That’s why I asked.”

Eddie blinked at her, then from her smile realized it was a joke and laughed. “Right, ’course. Well, I have a neighbor — right across from me, actually — and he’s been letting me stay with him until this all blows over. You know, actually,” he continued, putting his elbows on the table so he could better gesticulate with his hands, “he used to be a real case. But now he’s been nothing but nice to me.”

“Because you took out a death squad?”

“I was thinking that was the reason, yeah,” he said. “But, uh, that wasn’t really _me_. That was more…” He gestured at his chest, a motion which might be lost on anyone else besides Dora.

“Right,” she said. “And, um, speaking of which.” She adjusted her glasses. “Are you… Are you doing okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Totally fine. And y’know what, it’s actually a relief, not having this constant, nagging voice in your head.”

Dora curled her lip, and a bit of the skin on her hand jumped and writhed, so immediately he began backtracking. “Not that I’m saying _you_ would be better off, I’m just saying that in my specific case— I mean, I’m sure you and it are—”

“Her,” Dora corrected him.

“Her?” Eddie said, but the repetition was all it took for him to process it, and he immediately went back to rambling. “Right, you and her are really buddy-buddy, but me and mine? No, no, I think it’s way less complicated without it. I mean, for me! Not for you.”

Dora nodded. “Mhm.”

Eddie chuckled, one hand toying with his bracelets, the other tapping on the table again. He could tell she wasn’t entirely convinced, so for some reason he continued.

“It made me do bad things, Dora,” he said, quieter this time, with more force. “Hurt people. Kill them. I’m a better man without it around.”

Dora stared at him for a moment, some unplaceable feeling or thought behind her eyes, maybe introspective or angry or confused or even sad. Then in a moment it was gone, replaced with a lightness as her lips upturned and she started to giggle.

Eddie, taken aback, couldn’t help but ask, “What the hell is so funny?”

“Oh, sorry, it’s not you, it’s…” She pointed to her head, still giggling just slightly.

“You’ve got a comedian up there?”

“Don’t flatter her.” She brought the coffee to her lips, then paused. “But yes, she is funny.”

He was tempted to say something witty and knowing in response, but found he just didn’t have the energy for it. Instead he decided to switch the conversation back to heavier subjects, curiosity being the leading factor in this decision.

“So,” he started. He paused to take a long sip from his mostly empty mug, not wanting to let on how early he had been and how little patience he had waiting for her.

“So?” Dora said, waving her hand for him to continue.

“So,” he started again, putting his coffee back down, “how did your talks with the police go?”

“You first,” she said. “Were you consistent?”

“Of course I was,” he said. “Not like they asked for much detail, anyway.”

“Yeah, that was strange,” she said. “I thought they were going to ask me more questions, but it didn’t take much for them to let me go.”

“Exactly!” he exclaimed, his brain kicking back into gear. “I bet they don’t want to show how obvious all this… _shit_ was.”

“This shit?”

“Corruption, inhumane experimentation, all of it staffed entirely by people just scared enough or just _bad_ enough to go along with it—” He cut himself off. Dora was staring down at her coffee, and bits of her flesh were turning blue and curling menacingly at Eddie.

“Not you, of course,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “I’m just trying to say that all of it would be so…so _glaring_ if it someone _actually_ looked into it.”

“And you think they never did.”

“Right! Drake was practically freakin’ made of money and corruption, and combine those two with the boys in blue and it’s perfect.”

“Your theory is that the police were paid off?”

“Well, it’s a hunch,” he admitted. “I don’t really… I mean, I don’t have anything _solid,_ but…”

“No, I think you’re right,” Dora said. “Now that I think about it, I occasionally saw Drake having private chats with officers. And I guess that would mean they don’t want to press us too hard and reveal their involvement.”

“And the rest of the department wouldn’t want to show how goddamn incompetent they were,” Eddie said, waving his arms in the air for emphasis. Hands above his head, gesturing wildly, he made eye contact with one of the baristas. He froze his movements and smiled awkwardly at her, and quickly put his hands down on the table. She cringed at him, and then their interaction was over, Eddie’s attention back on the current conversation.

“But, uh,” he said. “I’m just throwin’ ideas around. Don’t quote me on any of that.”

“I mean, it seems very possible,” Dora agreed. “But I feel like you’re missing something.”

“What, like actual evidence?”

“That would probably help.”

He chuckled and took a small sip of what little coffee he had left, carefully considering his next words, wondering if what he wanted to say would be appropriate for a ten-in-the-morning conversation between two barely acquainted individuals who had taken down a mega corporation and saved the world, both in the same night. Was that enough bonding for him to talk about weird personal feelings?

He didn’t mull it over for long. His words came out fast and mashed together in a way that he knew wasn’t especially comprehensible.

“You ever feel you’re not having a choice?” he asked, stumbling over the sentence.

Dora blinked at him.

“Let me start over,” he said. “I mean, do you feel like… Do you feel like your life has been turned on its goddamn heels, in a direction you had no control over?”

The way Dora was looking at him, that was definitely not a good ten-in-the-morning topic.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said. “I don’t wanna freak you out. I’ve just been… _thinking,_ and it’s weird for it to be…” He didn’t finish his sentence. Didn’t say, “It’s weird that it’s just me.”

There was a pregnant pause in which Dora stared at nothing in particular, and then she just said, “Yes.”

“Excuse me?” Eddie said in confusion.

“I understand what you’re saying,” she clarified. “It felt like he was…pulling the strings.”

Eddie didn’t have to ask who she was talking about.

“And maybe I’m just paranoid,” she continued, “but even though I know he’s gone, it still feels like he…like he left a piece of himself behind.”

Her words hung in the air, suffocatingly thick with their implications: the thought that neither of them had truly escaped the Life Foundation.

Eddie coughed, and in an attempt to lighten to mood said, “Did I freak you out with my crazy cop conspiracies?”

To his fortune, Dora cracked a small smile. “Maybe a little bit.”

He in turn responded with a smile, just as another fly buzzed by and landed on the table. Without thinking, Eddie crushed it between his fingers and popped it in his mouth, the gooey crunch of it under his teeth just as deeply satisfying as he had expected.

His satisfaction ended when he remembered where he was, looking frantically around to check if anyone had seen. Luckily no one seemed to have noticed, excluding Dora, who was cringing and mumbling something, presumably gossiping about him to her symbiote.

“Sorry,” Eddie said. “I, uh. I had a small breakfast.”

“It’s fine,” Dora said. “Fortunately for you, you’re having coffee with maybe the only person on Earth who gets it.”

Eddie chuckled. “Makes it sound lonely when you say that.”

She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped, eyebrows scrunching and her eyes focusing downwards at her coffee.

Eddie was generally good at reading people, but he couldn’t claim to know what she was thinking. From her face, maybe she was considering that she’d never be alone again. Maybe the realization was finally setting in, that there would always be a voice in her head not belonging to her, that there’d always be an outside force influencing her, always another being feeding off of her.

Eddie touched his chest. That fly might’ve given him heartburn.

* * *

He and Dora hadn’t talked about much else. Dora mentioned in passing her two children, a son and a daughter, and that topic had allowed them to carry a pretty standard conversation where Eddie politely asked about their ages, hobbies, _et cetera_. Then abruptly they had lost things to talk about, all of Eddie’s ideas being too boring to offer more than four sentences of dialogue, or too personal for him to consider mentioning at all.

So currently he was walking back to his — scratch that, his _neighbor’s_ — apartment. Same walk, different destination. It would probably take him longer to get used to that than it would for his own apartment to become available to him.

The walk didn’t take long. He had considered taking his motorcycle the short distance, just to feel the thrill of it, but he was too antsy to take any transportation that didn’t involve him working off his excess energy.

Entering the apartment complex, he didn’t have to introduce himself to the cops still checking it out. A minority of them were friendly to him as he entered, usually letting him get up the stairs almost immediately. The majority of cops there seemed to have a grudge against him, and Eddie could only assume it was because he had done some scathing pieces on certain officers.

Just as Eddie was about to climb the stairs, there was a hand on his shoulder. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he turned around, putting on an entirely unconvincing smile.

“What is it, officer?” he asked.

“I’ll need to see some ID before I let you up there,” the cop said.

“Are you serious?” Eddie said, fake smile immediately dropping. “You see me here every freakin’ day. Is my face that forgettable?”

“It’s the current procedure,” the cop insisted, hands skirting around his belt, a vague threat that Eddie wasn’t willing to call a bluff.

He cursed and fished his wallet out of his pocket, handing the cop his driver’s license. As he slowly looked it over, Eddie was almost overcome with the urge to punch him in his shitty face, right then and there in front of all of his blue-clad buddies.

The cop handed Eddie his license back, snapping him out of his daydream.

“Have a nice day, Mr. Brock,” the cop said without any goodwill behind the words.

“Uh huh, sure, yeah,” Eddie mumbled, stumbling as he began his rush up the stairs, banging loudly on his neighbor’s door.

“What the hell, man?” came the voice from the other side of the door, the owner of it choking on the words as it opened. “Oh!” he said. “Ha, hey! Hi. Didn’t mean to snap at you, I just—”

“It’s fine,” Eddie said, cutting him off. “Can I come in now?”

“Right, yeah, of course.”

His neighbor, Ziggy, stepped aside, long blonde hair swinging with how fast he moved. Eddie gave him an awkward but appreciative nod as he stepped inside. He sat down on Ziggy’s torn couch, taking a good look at the metal and rock posters that were starting to become increasingly more uncomfortable to look at the longer he stayed here. The common themes in Ziggy’s wall art seemed to be decaying, undead bodies accompanied by busty and scantily-clad women, all interacting with some sort of Satanic imagery. If only his father could see him now.

“Hey, man,” Ziggy said, taking a seat at the kitchen table, a good distance away from Eddie. “I’m gonna keep having my lunch. Listen to some music. Just, uh… Tap me if you need anything.” He flashed Eddie a forced smile and put his headphones over his ears. Ziggy had apparently taken Eddie’s complaints to heart, considering ever since that night he confronted him, he never listened to music without headphones.

Ziggy was eating a salad of some sort. Eddie had been surprised to find out he was vegan, but maybe that was best for both of them. He had been trying to ignore his growing appetite for meat ever since…

He shuddered. Even without _it_ around, the craving was still there, constantly gnawing at his insides, urging him to take a bite out of every raw and bleeding piece of meat he found, its aliveness not mattering much to his stomach. Actually, the more alive it was, the more it appealed to him. Which might’ve been the worst part.

“I feel like I’m losing my mind,” he said aloud, knowing Ziggy couldn’t hear him. That fact didn’t really help him feel any less like he was losing it.

He sighed, deciding to take his mind off things by opening up his computer, which had been a pain to get out of his apartment. The cops had pretty much insisted on checking it last, but Eddie had negotiated with one of the more docile ones to hurry up with it. Apparently nothing incriminating had been found, so he’d been allowed to check his email, which to his surprise had been flooded with reporting offers.

But now there was something else unexpected on his computer. A note, its timestamp indicating it was from midnight. Eddie didn’t remember writing it, which wasn’t the unusual part. Most of his middle-of-the-night notes, no matter their coherence or impressiveness, were forgotten by the next day. No, the strange thing about this note wasn’t its timing or its absence from Eddie’s memory. Its strangeness originated from its contents, that being just a single word:

“Maria.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the wait between chapters! it's a busy summer


	3. Familiar Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dora and her symbiote have an unexpected run-in with a past acquaintance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some mild and gross pus-related stuff in this chapter, but it's nothing especially explicit

On the way back to her temporary residence, Dora tried to tune out other passerby. That unfortunately proved itself difficult once the sidewalks had become crowded enough that more people seemed to recognize her, maybe from whatever news articles reported on her. Those were the ones she had been putting off reading, even though she knew how important it was to be aware of what the media was saying about her.

Two women passed by with their hands cupped to cover their mouths, an action that they clearly thought would make their whispering less obvious than it already was.

Her stomach twisted. There were no loose strands of hair available for her to obsessively fix, so Dora just re-tucked those already behind her ear.

Her symbiote coiled uncomfortably in her gut, and then Dora heard two yelps from behind her. She turned to see the pair of girls had tripped, seemingly on nothing.

**Oops,** she said.

Dora put her hand over her mouth, and while she succeeded in containing her laugh, she couldn’t help the unflattering snort that caused more than a few pedestrians to look at her strangely.

“You really make me laugh at the worst times,” she whispered.

**I told you before,** she said,  **I like making you laugh.**

Dora said nothing, still unsure in how she should reply to that statement. Plus, the fluttering in her stomach would probably prevent anything understandable to come out of her mouth.

“I never expected you to have a sense of humor,” she eventually came up with, and then shook her head. “Sorry, that was…”

**I’m not offended, Dora,** she assured her.  **I never expected it either.**

Dora considered for a moment the few things her symbiote had divulged about the species’ planet and culture. Her symbiote had claimed they were a generally asocial species, and with that knowledge she could assume there wasn’t exactly a plethora of symbiote comedians.

And there was that misplaced anxiety again, surprisingly not coming from Dora.

“I like unexpected,” Dora blurted, loud enough that she received even more strange looks.

**Do you?**

“Yes,” she said, quieter this time. “Well, not all the time.” She thought back to high school, when a surprise birthday party from her parents had ruined her plans with her friends. “I like routine,” she continued, realizing she was straying further and further away from her original point. “I mean, a lot of humans do. But most of us also like when people surprise us, in a good way.”

**Did I surprise you?**

“Of course.”

**In a good way?**

She took just a moment to think back to the night when they had first become…  _ acquainted, _ to put it nicely.

“I think so.”

**You’ve been a surprise too, Dora.**

“Have I?”

**Yes.**

She didn’t elaborate, and somehow Dora could tell she wasn’t going to.

As she continued to pass houses on their walk to Dawn’s, she considered what she knew about symbiotes. Her knowledge was unfortunately limited, and she hadn’t found the chance to ask her own symbiote more questions since that first night.

What did symbiotes eat? Living meat, it seemed. And considering the way Eddie had made the news, it was possible they had a penchant for cannibalism relative to the host. But thinking back to her own symbiotes passing comments, it also seemed they could be sustained off of adrenaline.

Was that why they had been so quick to consume their hosts, without even attempting to escape? A combination of their hosts already being weak, mixed in with the lack of any adrenaline-producing activity? Even with six months of research, it really seemed like she hadn’t gotten anywhere until she was forced to communicate with a member of the species.

And something Dora hadn’t even considered, being a biologist who hadn’t the inkling that these beings were intelligent, was symbiote culture. She hadn’t asked much, only learning that they were apparently an asocial species and that they had a complicated and contradicting relationship with individualism. Although, when looking at her small sample of four symbiotes, the asocial part seemed… _ odd, _ somehow.

They again passed the park, Dora looking out at some of the visitors. There were the too-small-for-school children and their parents, a few groups of young adults relaxing and reading, and the occasional couple trying to have a picnic while avoiding flies and ants and bees. Predictably, she got a few odd looks, all from adults who undoubtedly read local news sites. Dora averted her gaze as soon as she met one man’s eyes.

Why couldn’t people just mind their own business? Yes, she was involved in the Life Foundation shutting down, which was the current big story around the city. And yes, she did help kill Carlton Drake, but none of them even knew that part.

She strained to keep her eyes forward, not even taking a glance out of her peripheral to check if she was being whispered about or watched. That didn’t last long, Dora finding an excuse to look again when she heard a faint rustling.

She turned her head to the source of the sound. Brown eyes met beady red ones, and Dora froze in her tracks.

“Can’t be,” she mumbled.

Nearly concealed in the shrubbery were two unblinking eyes fixed on the white-furred face of one familiar lagomorph.

“Is it?” she asked.

One of the rabbit’s ears twitched.

**I don’t know.**

The pair (or perhaps quartet) stared at each other for another long moment, the rabbit still unblinking. Pedestrians whispered around her, and some shoved rudely by her. In this moment, she hardly noticed them.

Without warning, the rabbit’s head twisted toward the sky, and it opened its mouth to scream. Its eyes bulged, and its buck teeth elongated into thin daggers. Those around Dora had stopped, staring in fear at the sight unfolding in front of them as the rabbit continued to screech, its flesh bubbling sickeningly.

“Oh, my God!” someone yelled.

“Is it rabid?”

“Call Animal Control!”

“Is it dying?”

The world started to blur around her as more people started shouting panicked questions. The rabbit’s face was spinning in her vision, like it was melting away the longer it wailed. Dora shut her eyes tight and covered her ears.

_ “Stop!” _ she yelled, and the rabbit’s incessant cry ceased. It stared at her again, mouth open and dripping something thick and pus-like. Its ear twitched, and then it hissed and bolted away.

Dora’s legged moved without her input. But her symbiote wasn’t controlling her; it was instinct that moved her to follow the streak of yellow-white as it darted through the park. People yelped as it ran past, and cursed as Dora did.

“Sorry!” she yelled back absently, and although she couldn’t make out the replies, she couldn’t imagine that they were at all forgiving.

The symbiote-rabbit started screeching again, alarming the previously relaxed park-goers. People jumped up and out of the way at the sight of the screaming, oozing, sharp-toothed bunny streaking toward them. To her fortune, this also allowed Dora a clear path, without the risk of trampling an unsuspecting couple.

**Strange,** her symbiote commented.

“Yeah,” Dora agreed, but didn’t have the focus to continue with the thought beyond the basic question: why would the symbiote-rabbit be clearing the path when that decreased its chance of escape?

She didn’t have a second to ponder it further. In a flash, the rabbit veered to the right, toward an area more covered by trees. Dora had to skid to a halt, not quick enough to make the turn efficiently. But she started back immediately, kicking up dirt into the eyes of the unfortunate people behind her.

That moment of pause seemed to have been all it took for the symbiote-rabbit to make headway. And it seemed to have picked up speed, making harsh indents in the dirt with each of its steps.

“It’s too fast for me,” Dora huffed, sweat sliding down her temple.

**We can’t transform, Dora. Especially not here, not now.**

“I know. But we have to do  _ something.” _

She could feel her symbiote thinking as they watched the symbiote-rabbit make more and more headway. They couldn’t let it escape, not when it could jeopardize the secrecy of the species’ existence, or when they weren’t sure what its ideas regarding the human race were. It was too risky.

But she couldn’t keep this up. Even with the enhancement of having her symbiote running through her veins, it wasn’t enough to catch up with it now, especially when her legs were beginning to numb and she could feel a stitch forming in her side.

Her legs began to crumble. She was slowing down, but she couldn’t stop, even though she could feel her muscles protesting.

Just as her legs began to wobble with exhaustion, she felt two twin tendrils begin to coil down from her hips. They coated her legs and her feet while staying out of sight, and she could almost feel them fueling her muscles as she began to pick up speed again, a burst of energy filling her. She almost whooped a laugh as she bounded across the park, following the trail of pus-like substance the symbiote-rabbit had left behind.

The triumph was short-lasting, just up until the moment they had sufficiently caught up with their target. It had decided to run in the middle of the tennis court, of course on a day where people were  _ actually _ playing. They didn’t even notice the rabbit sneaking underneath the surrounding fence, too focused on what was apparently a very serious match, but Dora knew she wouldn’t get the same treatment.

“Shit,” she said, launching herself up the fence and landing in between the competing duo.

“Holy crap,” the woman closest to her exclaimed.

“Oh my God, watch out!” the other warned, speaking of the ball headed to impact with Dora’s face. The pain and injury of which would be microscopic, while the bill for replacing her broken glasses would be an all around annoyance.

Without her input, Dora’s hand reached out and caught the tennis ball in the split second before it hit her eye. Using Dora’s hand, her symbiote chucked it over her shoulder, not bothering to care where it ended up.

Control of both arms was returned to Dora, which she used grab the holes in the chain link fence, pulling downwards to assist her launch over the fence. To her surprise, the symbiote-rabbit was waiting for her, watching her land. It cocked its head at her, tendrils twisting from its fur, and her symbiote responded in turn by wrapping small strands around Dora’s clenched fists. At this the rabbit’s tendrils receded into its back, popping out from its feet and propelling it all the way from the edge of the tennis court to the fence of the playground. From there it continued up, leaping to perch on the roof of one of the structures.

**Strange,** her symbiote said again.

“You’re telling me,” Dora said, already springing back into action. She sprinted to the playground, movement enhanced by her extraterrestrial partner, and easily hopped over the fence in one swooping motion.

She dashed up the slide, the action easier than she remembered, maybe because she was now an adult, or maybe goopy tendrils were clutching at the surface from underneath her shoes.

“No going up the slide!” one kid yelled at her.

“Right,” she said as she climbed onto the roof of the structure. “Won’t happen again.”

“Hey!” a voice yelled, and Dora turned to see what looked like a disgruntled father, probably alerted by that kid’s do-good reminder. “What are you doing up there?”

She struggled for an answer, but was interrupted by the symbiote-rabbit’s familiar scream. Its call was answered by the terrified cries of children, evidently frightened by the image of a fanged, pus-oozing rabbit.

Dora cringed, the sound enough to cause discomfort for her and her symbiote, but not at the frequency to harm them. The rabbit appeared to be experiencing the same discomfort, its ears turning back and its scream transforming into a low growl. Its gaze switched from Dora to one kid in particular, a pale boy who was screaming especially loud. In an instant, it was in the air, its course temporarily altered.

Dora moved on instinct, shooting herself out arms-first to barrel into the rabbit before it could sink its teeth into the kid, sending them both crashing into the swing set. Parents and children alike screamed in horror as Dora tumbled, the back of her head clanging into one of the swing set’s posts.

For a moment the world was blurry, out of focus, slipping from her grasp. She touched her face, finding that her glasses were still present and intact, thank God. Her hands moved to the back of her head, where an incessant throbbing was building. She made contact with warm blood and a shallow dent in the back of her skull. That at least explained her disorientation.

And for a brief second she thought she might die (again), but then the familiar warmth of her symbiote coated her patch of broken skin and bone, and she swiftly recovered her bearings, her vision and coordination coming back to her.

She touched the back of her head. Fortunately, it had been un-dented.

“Thank you,” Dora coughed, a few globs of blood accompanying her words. 

**Of course.**

She wiped the blood off her chin and stood, glaring darkly at the rabbit, which turned and ran as soon as they made eye contact. It jumped out of the playground in one comical leap, Dora following suit. She chased it down the park’s stairs and onto the sidewalk, where she managed to bump into at least four people before she followed the rabbit across the crosswalk. It darted into the street, Dora following it from the sidewalk. It darted in between cars with cartoonish speed, its ability to dodge seemingly not hindered by whether or not vehicles were in eyesight. The drivers didn’t seem to spot the creature, which was really for the better, considering that might cause—

The symbiote-rabbit vaulted over a car, landing ceremoniously in front of the one behind it, the driver of which swerved to avoid hitting the animal. To the misfortune of said driver, another was coming up on their left and was unable to avoid them as they turned into the wrong lane. They crashed bumper-to-bumper, both cars’ hoods crumpling upon impact. Dora skidded to a stop, watching smoke rise from the now-deformed vehicles.

**What are you doing?** her symbiote asked.  **We don’t have time for this!**

“I know, but what if they’re—” She stopped short when she saw both drivers exit their vehicles and stomp toward each other, yelling profanities and gesturing at the damage.

“Nevermind,” she mumbled, the sight of two uninjured drivers easing her conscience as she continued in her pursuit.

The symbiote-rabbit weaved through new traffic with even more ease, the road being blocked by the accident. It came upon the intersection, where it again jumped into the air. It collided with a turning vehicle, pushing off its side door to make a speedy left turn. The car it jumped off was pushed back, skidding to the right. Its trunk smashed into the front of a car parked on the street. Drivers on all the intersecting roads slammed on their breaks, a few of them getting out of their cars to assess the damage.

**No time to look,** her symbiote said, steering Dora’s legs down the rabbit’s trail. Despite herself, Dora noticed the Alamo Square Seafood Grill, and she was reminded that she hadn’t taken the kids out to eat in a while.

She shook her head, focusing back on the task at hand. The symbiote-rabbit was far ahead of them now, almost at the next intersection. Seeing the line of halted traffic, Dora’s mind supplied an idea that was sure to get her less friends around the city, and possibly even a legal case.

She sighed. “Can you soften my landings?” she asked her symbiote.

**To an extent.**

“Great,” she said, jumping onto the hood of a car. Predictably, the driver honked and shouted at her, but she didn’t have time to apologize. She climbed up on its roof and leapt, skipping over two before she landed on another roof. She jumped again, and she found herself in the middle of the intersection, the pavement beneath her feet somewhat cracked.

But more importantly, she was right behind the rabbit, who made a sharp right turn and then hopped onto the sidewalk. She followed in close pursuit until the rabbit suddenly stopped in its tracks. It turned around, meeting Dora’s eyes. Its mouth quivered and twitched and then altogether expanded into a twisted grin brimming with crooked fangs.

**“Doctor,”** it said, its voice surprisingly hoarse compared to the last time she had heard it.

Dora darted her head around. She and the symbiote-rabbit were behind a row of parked cars, and there were currently no pedestrians on this side of the road. She bent down to her knees and leaned closer to the rabbit.

**If it tries anything,** her symbiote warned,  **I’ll tear the animal’s guts out and leave the symbiote to die of starvation.**

“Please don’t,” Dora said, as much as she appreciated the sentiment.

**“Doctor,”** the rabbit said again.

Dora turned her attention back to it. “Are you talking about me?” It was then she noticed how emaciated the rabbit was. “Are you asking for help?

**“Here,”** it continued, as if it hadn’t heard a word she’d said.  **“Still here.”**

“What?” Dora said. “You… I don’t understand.”

**It’s delirious,** her symbiote said.  **Dying.**

As if on cue, the rabbit began shaking violently. Dora jumped back, and her symbiote readied herself in case of an attack.

Then the rabbit flopped inelegantly to the ground. It twitched a few more times, then stopped moving at all. Dora took a tentative step closer, reaching out to investigate when a familiar creature wormed its way out of the rabbit’s mouth. Out came A03, the same sickly yellow Dora remembered it being. And before she could even think to contain it somehow, it slipped down the sidewalk and into the sewer.

“Shit,” she said. Now she was back to square one, with A03 loose who-knows-where, without anyone to keep it in check…

**Like you?** her symbiote said. It was framed as an innocent question, but Dora could feel the bitterness behind it.

She shook her head. “It’s not like that with us.”

She said nothing, but it was evident that she wasn’t convinced. But it seemed that was a conversation for a later time, because just then Dora heard the rabbit squeal, different than before, unmodified by a symbiotic. When she looked it was still unmoving, but she leaned down and checked its pulse. It was still alive, though it seemed just barely. She scooped it into her arms, not sure what to do for it except take it to the vet. Her symbiote didn’t comment, and Dora got a sense of neutrality from her (and maybe slight annoyance at their new detour).

Dora stood, and that’s when she noticed where exactly they were: the Holy Virgin Cathedral, a church Dora only knew by name because of Abbey, who had mentioned that Isabelle went there.

She looked down, and on the church’s steps she saw a handful of candles lit around a framed photograph. In front of the picture were a few small bundles of flowers and handwritten notes. In the frame was the image of Dr. Lloyd Emerson, his wife and daughter just barely cropped out of the photo.

Dora stared at it, and the symbiote’s words echoed in her mind.

**_“Still here.”_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’m probably overestimating the crowdedness of alamo square park but it’s ok because it’s for the Drama™


	4. Nothing Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie, inspired by the cryptic note he left himself on his computer, seeks out further information on the disappearances related to the Life Foundation.

Eddie had always had a good connection with the homeless people of San Francisco. Hell, he had been homeless himself a few times, and probably would be right now if it weren’t for the fact that his neighbor was scared shitless of him.

He had been particularly close to Maria, who he got to know over the course of around six months. He’d pass by her on his way into Mrs. Chen’s, they’d strike up conversation, and they’d usually charm each other with a bit of back-and-forth depressed banter. It was one of the better parts of his days.

The last time he talked to her was hardly even a conversation. A series of screams, an uncharacteristically low growl, and in a flash she was dead. All because of Carlton Drake. And because of…

He touched his chest.

But that wasn’t the point. They were all gone now, anyway. Maria… Drake…

His hand gripped tightly around his shirt.

The main focus at the moment was Maria, the woman his sleep-deprived brain had suddenly remembered in the middle of the night. Which really shouldn’t have prompted any sort of afternoon outing. But for whatever reason, it struck him. After taking a moment to process it, he rushed online, pouring through videos and articles and even a goddamn podcast, anything he could find on the Life Foundation. He even went through the comments of all of these, some of which gave him hope ( _ SanAndrea, 3 days ago: Glad someone finally brought this stuff to light. Seems Drake had it coming for a long time now. _ ) while others fueled his anger ( _ Norm O, 2 days ago: Shame that another good man has been taken down by one of these “news” reporters! Where will we be without his work? _ ).

His findings were limited, the news being recent and the records scrubbed, but he was able to pick up on a few things. From all the sources he could access, only a few names of the deceased had been released, but it was publicly known that many corpses had been found. A few sites proclaimed that the police had yet to identify many of the victims, and conspiracy blogs attested to the bodies being that of aliens (close, but no cigar). Most interesting was the claim of one local news site that some areas of the forest had been dug up before police involvement, in spaces just large enough to be shallow graves.

There were a few other articles that sustained these claims, but they were mentioned offhand and hadn’t received coverage from national news. And as it stood, there wasn’t any way for Eddie to confirm it himself. No cop was gonna let civilians into the Life Foundation’s makeshift graveyard, and even if they did, there would be no way for Eddie to tell whether someone was dug up before or after the police investigation began.

Since he wasn’t getting much else from web searches, he decided to go the old-fashioned route. There wasn’t much to go off of since he wasn’t in contact with any employees (except for Skirth, who hadn’t picked up when he called). Thus he took to the streets and chatted with a few people he knew to be vague acquaintances of Maria, all of whom he got no useful information from.

By the time he had talked to the last person his stomach was grumbling insistently, and he figured the closest and cheapest option for food was something from Mrs. Chen’s convenience store. He hadn’t been there since before he had agreed to help Dora expose Carlton Drake as the corrupt capitalist that every smart person expected him to be.

Despite his gnawing hunger and surprisingly busy day, Eddie found himself energized on the way to Mrs. Chen’s. He hadn’t realized how sobering it was to have something to  _ do, _ something to investigate. There was purpose in this. He could feel it in his bones that this wasn’t over, that there was something deeper to be found. He just wasn’t sure what yet.

The pep in his step stopped when he came upon Mrs. Chen’s. He was greeted with the familiar sight of a woman leaning against the wall next to the store, sitting on the ground with a bundle of blankets and a few bags. The most noticeable bit of unfamiliarity came from the fact that the woman was not alone, but with a young boy, maybe around ten years old.

He shifted on his feet, internally debating whether or not it would be productive or even appropriate to approach this woman. In the end his curiosity won out, and so he took a deep breath and approached with a casual, “Hey, there.”

The woman jolted. The boy, whose head was rested on her lap as he slept, began to stir. She patted the boy on his head, which seemed to settle him back into sleep. She looked at Eddie for only a brief second, then back at the boy.

He cleared his throat. “Uh, hi,” he tried, and this time she made eye contact with him.

“Are you talking to me?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said and extended his hand. “I’m—”

“Eddie Brock,” she said, returning his gesture with a short, one-shake handshake. “I’ve seen your show.”

“Oh, really?” Eddie said, not being able to help the flattered half-smile that appeared on his face.

“Yes. You do good work, Mr. Brock.”

“Ah, uh, thank you,” he said. “And, um, your name would be…?”

“Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth,” he repeated, cementing it in his mind. Closer to her, he noticed she looked almost nothing like Maria. Where Maria’s lengthy hair was dark and straight, Elizabeth’s puffed-up bob was a color in between light brown and red. Her eyes were somewhere between soft and piercing, perhaps alternating between the two, offering Eddie comfort and anxiety at the same time.

“And this guy?” he asked, pointing at the boy sleeping contentedly.

She looked from him to Eddie and narrowed her eyes just slightly. There was another moment of hesitation before her shoulders relaxed and she said, “Timothy.”

Eddie nodded. “He’s got your nose.” He shook his head. The statement was true, sure, but it also sounded stupid.

But to his surprise, Elizabeth smiled. “You’d be surprised how often I hear that.”

“Really?” he asked. “Bit of a weird thing to say.”

“A little bit,” she said with a light chuckle.

He chuckled along with her while wondering how best to broach the subject of today’s walk.

“You know, um,” he started, “since I’ve run into you here, I was wonderin’ if I could ask you a few things.”

Again her eyes narrowed and her shoulders tensed.

“I mean, Jimmy Fallon’s interviews always seem to let him get to know somebody,” he joked with a light-hearted smile. Elizabeth stared at him with a stagnant, unamused expression. Eddie cleared his throat, trying not to dwell on his embarrassment. “I’m just… I’m wondering about an old friend of mine.”

Her expression turned more neutral, a hint of intrigue behind her eyes.

“She used to set up here most of the day,” he explained. “And then she, uh…”

“Disappeared,” Elizabeth supplied.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” he said, choosing not to expand on it. “Would you happen to know anything about her specifically?”

“I know she went to the Life Foundation,” she said, “just like so many other desperate people have.” She took a breath. “To be frank with you, Mr. Brock, I doubt she got out of there alive.”

He swallowed. “Yeah, I… I know, but… I had this weird thought.”

He looked to glean her reaction. She had leaned in slightly, ready to hear the next thing he was going to say. That was always a good sign in these types of “interviews.”

“I thought to myself, ‘What if it isn’t as simple as we think?’” Her eyes were beginning to drift away from him, a clear sign that he was losing her. He fumbled for the words to bring her back, but couldn’t find them, couldn’t even locate his original reasoning during his search. He was going off a singular sleep-deprived note and a few suspicions, which had seemed like enough, but now looking at Elizabeth’s face he couldn’t help but now think,  _ What if it just is that simple? I don’t have anything on it except vague testimonies and articles. What was he supposed to say— _

“The news!” he blurted out.

She gave him a baffled look. Clearly he had her attention now, but the issue was to maintain it.

“The news,” he continued, rolling with the blurb his brain had provided. “I saw some things. Speculations mostly, but some people are saying that there could’ve been bodies dug up  _ before _ the police got there.  _ That _ is something that I can’t overlook.”

“Why not take it to the police?”

“You think they’re gonna listen to me?” he said incredulously. “The defamed Eddie Brock, whose show has put at least a dozen of the city’s officers up for investigation?”

“Previously defamed,” Elizabeth added, a smile smile on her lips. Eddie returned it with a triumphant grin.

“My point still stands.”

“It does,” she admitted. She sighed. “Listen, Mr. Brock, I’d love to help, but I don’t know much. I hear things from people who hear things, and I haven’t heard anything more than you. And I don’t have the time to help you any further.” She gestured her eyes meaningfully at the sleeping Timothy.

She sighed again, heavier this time. “It’s been difficult, Mr. Brock. Some of my few good friends around here…they’re gone now. And what makes it worse is that I know where they went.”

The hint of tears were starting to form in the corners of her eyes. She took a shaky breath and wiped her eyes, and with that simple motion all outward appearance of despondency disappeared.

“At least, uh,” Eddie said, searching his brain for some silver lining. “At least with the place shut down there’ll be less people, uh, goin’ missing.” He cringed, not confident that his phrasing was helpful.

Elizabeth stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry, that came out wrong, I just meant—”

“No, no, I was just confused,” she said. “Mr. Brock, I think there have been more people disappearing than before.”

“You… What?” Eddie said, disbelief apparent in his tone.

“I know a lot of people around here,” Elizabeth said, looking down at Timothy, stroking a lock of hair from his face. “And I know people who know people, and so on. Word gets around when people disappear. There’s always a few, with people out there picking on any target they can. But it’s terrible right now.”

She looked back up at him, and he felt a hole open in the pit of his stomach.

“And sometimes I think we’re going to be next.”

The hole in his stomach filled with acid, and his hands clenched into trembling fists. Elizabeth looked from his face to his hands and back again, her body tensing and readjusting to cradle Timothy’s head protectively. Eddie looked down at his hands, where his knuckles were turning white from his grip. Elizabeth was staring at him in silence, eyes fixed on his hands. He took one look at her and uncurled his fist, though the anger was still present.

“I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” he reassured her, his voice coming out harsher than he’d intended. Despite that her body language relaxed, her arms moving to cradle Timothy a little less.

She stared at him, and Eddie tried to discern the thoughts going on behind her eyes. But all he could tell was that she was considering something, and nothing about her expression gave away what that could be.

Finally, she spoke. “Be careful, Mr. Brock,” she said, her open palms turning to fists.

“Be careful,” she repeated.

* * *

After shuffling awkwardly through his wallet for something to offer Elizabeth, Eddie found that the only thing he had to spare was a five dollar bill. He handed it to her sheepishly, and she took it without a word, just an acknowledging nod. He considered that he should’ve given something to the other people he talked to, but it was too little, too late for that.

He stumbled into Mrs. Chen’s, drunk off revelation. This should have been obvious to him sooner. Why would disappearances be happening like this, and so close to the destruction of the Life Foundation? Coincidence was unlikely. They had to be related somehow, but he couldn’t yet fathom the reason.

But most importantly, he had to stop this.

“Eddie,” Mrs. Chen greeted.

“Oh, hey,” Eddie said with a small wave. “You’re, uh, lookin’ good.”

“Wish I could say the same for you,” she said, shaking her head.

Eddie didn’t grace that with a reply, accustomed to her harsh but well-meaning criticism.

He surveyed the aisles, considering his options. He wasn’t big on cash at the moment, and he wasn’t likely to be until he actually started writing his piece on the Life Foundation. Which, if tonight’s excursion was any indication, wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. He obviously didn’t have the information required for a full piece. Then again, he  _ could _ just do a follow-up piece later, but he didn’t have the time for that when he was trying to figure out which creep was abducting homeless people this time, and whether or not it was related to this whole Drake mess.

He stared at a pack of chewable Pepto-Bismol tablets. He hadn’t been drinking much the past few days, not having the energy to go out and get anything (to his shock, Ziggy didn’t have an ounce of alcohol at his apartment, claiming he only bought it for “absolute ravers”). That meant he probably wouldn’t need any digestive-assisting medicines. Plus, five dollars made a decent dent on his wallet these days. He put the tablets down and kept looking.

He came across the frozen section, where an array of items caught his eye. Packets of raw chicken, ground beef, sliced deli meats, pork ribs, and anything else red and raw. Mrs. Chen didn’t have them in abundance, but there was enough red on the freezer shelves to make Eddie’s mouth water. He pressed a hand against the freezer door, staring intently at a package of beef steak. A good price, too, and he wouldn’t even have to feel guilty about upping Ziggy’s gas bill, he could just eat it as it was: raw, juicy, and bloody—

He yelped and jumped back from the freezer. Mrs. Chen called out some variation of “Everything okay over there?”, to which Eddie gave a thumbs-up and a nod. He snatched up one of the cheap  _ Eat Light! _ vegetarian sandwiches and scuffled over to the counter, where Mrs. Chen eyed him curiously before ringing him up.

“Make sure you’re eating enough, Eddie,” she said, handing him his sandwich. “Nutrition is important.”

“Sure is,” he said, giving a close-lipped smile. “Have a nice day, Mrs. Chen.”

He exited before she could reply, hurrying down the street in a cold sweat. He pulled the sandwich out of its wrapping as he walked, crunching into lettuce and tomato and stale bread. As expected, it tasted like shit. But at least that was consistent with his experience before the… Before  _ it. _

He took another scowling bite of his sandwich. His chest burned and his stomach growled, and just to spite his body he shoved the remainder of the sandwich into his mouth and chewed loudly at any passerby who dared make eye contact with him. He swallowed the wad almost whole, and it slid down his gullet like an egg down the throat of a snake.

He thumbed at the pen in his pocket, clicking away any concerns of red meat, or of veggie sandwiches, or of the fact that his body was craving a beer he definitely couldn’t afford. No, his focus had to be on the new information he’d gathered, and on the sudden realization that he was being followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry for the long wait with this one!! school and depression have both been kicking my ass lately. still, i hope everyone enjoyed!!


	5. Show Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dora’s encounter with A03 and its severely injured host needs addressing. As it turns out, so does the history of her own symbiote. (And perhaps the future.)

“You said you found the animal on the side of the road?” the receptionist asked.

“Yes,” Dora said, failing incredibly at hiding her impatience. She probably had emails she should check, more jobs she should try contacting, and definitely one or two missed calls from Eddie that she should return. And then there was the issue at the forefront of her brain, the issue brought up by the very rabbit she was bringing to the vet — well, sort of. Dora doubted the rabbit had much to do with the symbiote’s cryptic message, whatever it meant.

The receptionist clicked her pen, snapping Dora back to reality. “Do you know what was wrong with it?” she asked.

“Um,” Dora said. “I think it had a, um…” She searched for the appropriate term. “A  _ parasite _ .”

Her symbiote swirled in her stomach.

“A parasite?” the receptionist repeated. “Can I ask what makes you think that?”

“It looked sick,” she said. “Emaciated. And I saw it experiencing seizure-like tremors. That could mean a lot of things, but parasitic infection jumped out to me.”

“Alright,” the receptionist said. “If you could just fill out these forms, we’ll be all set.”

Dora hesitated in accepting the clipboard and pen offered to her, the board holding a paper asking for a bounty of personal information. Would it be wise to have an on-record association to a previously bonded animal? Could that make her a target if something was found out about the rabbit, something overlooked in her research, since they had never had a test subject survive after unbonding?

But then again, if they  _ did  _ find anything, it would be beneficial for Dora to be contacted with the information.

She took the receptionist’s offer and sat down in the waiting room chair farthest from any other people.

“This feels like a bad idea,” she whispered.

**Yes.**

“But we need to be the first to know if they find anything.”

**Yes.**

She waited. “Any other insight to offer?”

**No.**

Dora frowned. “Okay,” she said. She took the pen in her hand and started filling out the form. “Okay.”

She was able to keep going for a good ten seconds before putting the pen down. Her nails started to pick away at the wood of the clipboard. The shavings fell by her feet, and then she faltered, a splinter piercing her forefinger. It was quickly ejected, though perhaps not as immediately as Dora had expected.

“Are you alright?” she asked after a few more moments of silence.

**Yes.**

“You’re not,” Dora said, the fact evidenced by the distinct discontent sitting in the pit of her stomach.

There was a pause, which Dora used to scribble absently on the form, only paying half attention to what she was writing.

**It’s going to die,** her symbiote said.

The pen paused mid-stroke. “What?”

**I don’t understand why we saved it. It’s taking up our time. And it will die anyway.**

“Why did you help me save the Earth?” Dora asked. “Weren’t we close to dying?”

**I did that for you, Dora,** she said, and immediately Dora’s ears grew hot.

“Oh?” she said, trying (and failing) to keep her cool.

**Yes. And for this planet’s ocean. I find it fascinating.** There was another pause.  **But I don’t understand why we would try to save a creature we have no personal relation to.**

“Because,” she said, “it’s human nature.”

**Is it?**

“Yes,” Dora said, without much certainty.

**There doesn’t seem to be much evidence for that.**

She didn’t have a response to that. And so it was there the conversation ended, her symbiote’s words hanging darkly in the air, hounding Dora as she finished filling out the form.

She finished, double-checked her information, and gave it to the receptionist all in record time, exiting the vet’s only a few minutes after noon.

“We should get back to Dawn’s,” she said. She mapped it out in her head. “It’s a little too long of a walk.”

**If I could take us, it would be much faster.**

“I wish,” Dora said, remembering the feeling of her symbiote wrapped around her, the two of them bounding across rooftops. It would be nice to do that again, when they weren’t in life-threatening situations. Dora could enjoy it more that way. “But we can’t.”

**I know. I was just…making a statement.**

“Oh?”

**Yes,** she said.  **My way of transportation is much more efficient than a cab.**

Dora chuckled, which earned her a sidelong glance from a passing pedestrian. She thought nothing of it at first, walking in the opposite direction without even a second thought, until that second thought seemed to slap her in the face. She spun around, but the person was already gone.

**What is it?** her symbiote asked, tensing inside Dora’s stomach.

“It’s,” Dora said. “It’s…” She shook her head. “It’s nothing. Just…for a second there, I thought I saw someone I knew.”

* * *

Dora returned to Dawn’s house with the intention to call Eddie back —  _ after _ she obsessively checked her computer for any replies to job offers, of course. And after she repeatedly refreshed the page, just in case something went through within the last second she had spent staring at unopened junk mail.

She intended to call Eddie after she did a check of the news, and after she made the beds in the guest room. But that was before she found herself wandering to the kitchen counter, her eyes catching on the thick dictionary relaxing by the edge. She flipped to the “M” section, where pressed between “ma” and “Madero” was the golden flower her symbiote had given her that night, the one she was still yet to identify.

Delicately as she could, she touched a hand to one of its five petals. Dry now, almost crinkly, when it used to be soft. It was still a beautifully bright yellow, with streaks of black coming from its middle. Staring at it, a warmth rose in her chest. It was her own, for the most part, but not all of it. Some of it was from a “foreign” entity, the one in which she had become very familiar with. Soon the warmth spread to her face, and her cheeks grew hot, and that was when she decided was a good time to shut the dictionary.

As she did, her mind wandered to the word “macadamia,” which had been somewhere in the middle of the first page. Her stomach grumbled.

**Hungry,** her symbiote grumbled with it. The word always followed, like it was instinct.

“Okay,” Dora said, opening up Dawn’s abysmally-stocked cabinets. She had learned over the past few days that many previously satiating items would no longer satisfy their collective needs, of which she didn’t know the specifics.

“More scrambled eggs will have to do,” she mumbled.

She cracked the eggs into a bowl without the care she used to. She found that she didn’t much mind some stray bits of shell anymore. The crunch of it was…comforting.

“I keep wondering about your nutritional needs,” Dora thought aloud. “You said many of you sustain off of meat, but we seem to be getting by just fine without it. But then…there’s also  _ adrenaline, _ which you don’t exactly get from food, but your production can be improved through certain dietary choices…”

**But then there’s the** **_something else._ **

“Mm. Something in the brain?”

**In yours, yes,** she said.  **And in those of the other hosts on this planet.**

“So it’s…unique?”

**Perhaps not,** she said.  **You see, an aspect of my role was discovering what a planet’s inhabitants could provide for us,** she continued.  **You’d be surprised how common adrenaline is across galaxies and species. But this new need…** A tendril wrapped around Dora’s finger, having her set down an extra egg she had been about to add.  **This is not one I’ve encountered before, Dora.**

“Did other species have an abundance of it, maybe?”

**I’m not sure.** Dora felt her symbiote consider it. **I don’t think so.**

“Then maybe it was more abundantly present in the nutritional sources for hosts, like food and water. Maybe there’s something different about the environment, something that could cause you to be deficient in this need, to use it more. Or something.”

**I admit I’ve been trying to figure that out myself,** her symbiote said.  **It’s curious how…** **_different_ ** **everything is on your planet.**

“How so?” Dora asked. She could of course imagine that alien worlds were different in  _ countless _ ways. With the confirmation of aliens, who knew what they all looked like? There could be some that were almost humanoid, but it seemed more likely that the other sentient species would be so different from any of Earth’s creatures that Dora couldn’t begin to imagine their appearances. Or maybe there were more like the symbiotes, shapeless and constantly shifting, their forms strangely soft and warm to the touch, comfortingly restrictive around her very bones, beautifully strange under the moonlight—

**I could show you.**

“What?” Dora said, knocking over the egg carton in surprise.

A smooth blue tendril shot from her side, grabbing it before it could hit the ground and gently returning it to the counter.

**Be careful.** Although not technically spoken, the words were barely above a whisper.

She flushed. “Um. Thank you.”

**Of course, Dora.**

“You said you could… You could ‘show me’?”

**Other worlds,** her symbiote said.  **The worlds I’ve seen over three hundred million years.**

“Three hundred  _ million?” _

**Yes,** she said.  **I would more than qualify for one of Earth’s senior discounts.**

Dora broke into a laugh. “You’re pretty spry for an old-timer.”

**By the standards of my species, I’m not very old at all,** she clarified.  **We all mature into adulthood within days of our birth, and we live for almost countless eons.**

“Wow.”

**Is that impressive?**

“Living for  _ eons? _ Of course it is. By human standards, I mean. Probably by a lot of standards.” She paused to retrieve a fork from Dawn’s shockingly disorganized kitchen drawers, and used said fork to begin beating the eggs with what she hoped was the correct force (her scrambled eggs never seemed to come out just right).

“Do you remember it all?” she asked.

**Most of it.**

Dora watched the veins in her wrists turn a deeper blue, thickening and raising up as her symbiote added a clumsy touch of force to Dora’s movements. A splash of egg flew out and landed on Dora’s cheek, and she couldn’t help but laugh.

“I don’t think you remembered how to beat eggs,” she chuckled.

**I think that one was supposed to be your responsibility.** She paused.  **There** **_are_ ** **things that I have trouble remembering. But I can recall many things.**

“Oh, you can?” she teased, taking a poke at her partner’s pride.

**Yes,** she said.

A small tendril wiped the egg from Dora’s face.

**The important things.**

“Show me,” Dora blurted.

**You’d like me to?**

“Yes,” she said. “Yes.”

No sooner had the word left her mouth than she felt her body melt into a writhing pool of symbiote goop. The world beneath her was cool and smooth and jagged, like it was made entirely of crystal. The world’s inhabitants were similar: pointed edges, cold skin, pores that the planetary scouts had had difficulty penetrating. They had prevailed through patience, and she would do the same. She watched as her hand — no, not a hand, a tendril — reached out to clasp at the chosen host’s inflexible flesh.

Her own form began to seep inside, slowly but surely latching onto veins and muscle and bone, and then she was sharply gripping onto brain stem and tissue until host and parasite were near indistinguishable.

Then in a flash she was somewhere new, was  _ someone _ new: a new galaxy, a new planet, a new host. This one had a softer outside than the previous one, much easier to penetrate. She remembered its insides being the point of struggle, its organs coated in a film of sorts, thin but  _ hot, _ burning to the touch. Through trial and error, she had been the one to determine the best point of entry to be through the second of the host’s three stomachs. It was meant for digesting the planet’s coarse and acidic liquids, some of which had enough strength to disrupt the chemical balance of the outer film, weakening it enough for a painful but possible entry.

The scene changed. She was in a different host now, but one of the same species. At this point they had controlled the population’s diet so that it consisted of more acidic liquids, making every host easier to access. This one had been a struggle; it had been avoiding such liquids. But she had been in the mood for a challenge after her first few hosts were worn down.

It was with this host that she watched one of her own be imprisoned — and not by the fearful host species, no, but by an angered group of her own.

Word of it traveled fast, and symbiotes from all over flooded the area, viewing the new attraction with a disgusted intrigue. The symbiote was imprisoned in a cage of recent design, only having been created about a thousand years prior, when the most powerful ones of their kind decided it would be beneficial to contain any who stepped out of line. They had enlisted the assistance of the designated engineers, who built a cage that perfectly held a symbiote.

The cage had no walls, because it of course had no need for them. Instead of the iron bars in a typical planet’s prison, this contraption held prisoners with the focused emission of high-frequency sonic waves, fashioned perfectly to contain, but not kill.

Two powerful symbiotes stood on each side of the cage, one of them playfully extending strands of itself toward the cage only for that extension of its form to shudder and destabilize until it was disconnected from the host body, forced to crawl back like one of the pitiful lower lifeforms of this planet. The other stood perfectly still, not an atom of its biomass moving until the crowd was more filled, which was when it snapped its head towards its audience.

**“It’s wonderful that you’re here,”** it said.  **“You can all witness what happens to a diseased** **_aberration_ ** **like this.”**

Its head snapped away, back toward the cowering caged creature, and its hand morphed into a shape Dora could only compare to a scalpel. Her host’s stomach dropped, and savage cheers erupted around her, and then the memory was gone, wiped away to reveal a new one.

She was inhabiting the body of one of the planet’s aforementioned lower lifeforms. It was a few thousand years later, and all the sapient organisms had since been consumed. That was when they were forced to turn to the less feeling creatures, which didn’t have nearly as much nutritional value. They didn’t last long, either, being worn out much sooner than the others. Once their population dwindled enough, they would have to scout for another planet with a large enough population to feed their numbers.

For now, she tried to savor the taste of this creature’s dying brain.

It was bitter.

Another flash, and she and the rest of her kind were preparing to leave. It wasn’t at all the same planet as she had last seen; she remembered that this was more than a million years and almost a hundred planets later.

She watched as millions of symbiotes detached from their hosts, carcasses dropping to the ground as their forms slithered together into one large mass. She followed them, drinking in the last bits of nutrition from this host before disposing of what was left of its body. She had done this many times that year, in preparation for the long and foodless journey they would go on.

She grafted herself to the side of the living rock they had created, which pulsed with life. A jumble of thoughts made their way into her mind, the cacophony of silent voices too horrible and confused to understand aside from their one goal, their one shared purpose:

**_Hosts._ **

The next memory was only a few months later, at the classically desperate point when the pre-move feasts of flesh and chemicals were almost half-digested. The discomfort, the anger, the  _ hunger _ of her kind was plaguing her mind. And it was she who was to satisfy those cravings.

Her reconnaissance squadron had been recently reorganized and condensed, much to the annoyance of the leader. Two defective creatures had been offered a second chance.

If they didn’t die during reconnaissance, she expected them to die after the planet’s invasion.

Another change in scene. An image of a primitive space shuttle. Symbiotes at the rear of their spherical mass organized themselves and flapped their forms like the wings of a bird. A collection of them at the front formed a thin but sturdy tether between them and the ship.

Again the memory changes, but now Dora is sure she’s gone back in time. A thick, clawed hand constricted her throat. The grip was close to cracking the second most layer of bones around this host’s equivalent to an esophagus.

Her eyes were closed. They had closed with the slam of this host’s skull against rock.

She opened her eyes. A slobbering silver figure loomed above her, its all-white eyes somehow full of contempt.

**“So** **_weak_ ** **,”** the leader sneered, smile dropping just slightly.

It stared at her for a moment, and then its grip on her neck loosened until she could finally choke out breath from the host’s lung.

**“You’re better than that,”** the leader said.  **“You’re better than that.”**

And then she was back in the Life Foundation, back in the room where everything started and everything ended, and Dora was staring at her own face twisted in terror as the blue in her veins wrapped around her very being.

A crash, and Dora was on the floor, hand still wrapped around the fork. Beside her was the orange-yellow spill of her bowl of beaten egg, some of it wetting Dora’s ankles and surely staining her pants.

Her phone buzzed. She hardly heard it. She could only hear the sound of her own heart and feel it pumping blue through her veins.

**“Dora,”** her symbiote said,  **“are you alright?”**

Her mind was buzzing, her blood jumping and thumping against the walls of her capillaries. There was only one word she could use to answer her symbiote’s question.

“Wow,” she said.

“Wow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy hanukkah to those who celebrate!! i hope the length of this chapter might make up for the time it took


	6. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dora finally picks up the phone, and Eddie deals with his second stalker of the month.

It took a long moment for Dora to process the fact that her phone was ringing. Long enough a moment that by the time she did, she had already missed the call. She absently patted around the floor for her phone, mind still whirring with what she had just seen. Her symbiote grabbed it from the counter and placed it in her hand.

“Thank you,” she said. She felt her body shaking, but she knew she was sitting stark still.

She was brought back to reality by five voicemail notifications, all of them from Eddie Brock.

“That’s somewhat concerning,” she mumbled.

There was silence, and then her symbiote spoke.  **I suppose you should listen to them.**

“Yeah,” Dora said, something in her gut telling her she maybe didn’t want to. But curiosity and concern overrode that, and she played the first message.

_ “Hey, Doc,” _ came Eddie’s voice, somewhat muffled by the busy city.  _ “I was just hoping we could do a, uh, a follow-up appointment. I mean, I just tried that run thing you mentioned, and I gotta say the pain is pretty bad.” _

There was a pause, which Dora used to think,  _ What the hell? _

_ “So, uh, call me back when you can,” _ he continued.  _ “I’d also really like to know if insurance covers all this, and uh… Yeah. Uh, talk to you soon.” _

A click, and the message ended. She stared blankly at the remaining voicemails, wondering for a moment if he had called the wrong number.

_ “Hey Doc, me again,” _ said the second message.  _ “Just, uh, get back to me as soon as you can, because like I said, I really can’t afford to  _ run _ with all this pain.” _

The message ended, and Dora took a moment to stare incredulously at her phone.

Her symbiote broke the silence.  **Is he an idiot?**

“No, I…think it’s a code,” Dora said. “I mean, not a formal code with any sort of cypher or established secret language. But I think he’s trying to get something across to us without saying it outright.”

**Yes,** her symbiote agreed.  **And he’s doing a shit job at it.**

Were she not so weirded out, Dora would’ve laughed. But instead she just played the next few messages, deciding to get them over with as quick as possible. Maybe by the end this would all turn out to be nothing, just Brock hitting the wrong button in his contacts, or maybe just a little bit of misplaced paranoia.

She played the third message.

_ “Hey, buddy,” _ Eddie said, voice quiet. He was obviously straining to add enthusiasm to his words.  _ “Hey. Maybe we could meet up sometime today, y’know? Catch up on things. Maybe even meet up with some other old friends, too.” _

That certainly meant something, even if she wasn’t sure what. Deciding she would think about it more in a few minutes, she played the fourth one.

_ “Skirth!” _

She jumped a bit, even though his voice was still hushed.

_ “Where are you?”  _ he asked. _ “Why aren’t you picking up?” _ There was a drawn-out pause. Dora could just make out the sound of footsteps in the distance.  _ “Listen, I need you to get here right fucking now, or else I might be fucking done for!” _

The message cut off.

She gulped before playing the last one.

_ “Hey, Skirth. Sorry about all this cryptic bullshit. I’m just, uh, panicking just a bit. I think you’d understand if you…well, I guess we both have, but this… Um. Nevermind. But, uh, seriously. I need you to call me back.” _

“What the hell,” she said, out loud this time.

Her symbiote was silent, but Dora could feel her unease about the situation. It was a bunch of cryptic bullshit, that was for sure, but it was cryptic bullshit that frankly didn’t make any sense, much in contrast to the recent snippets of information she had been given by her symbiote. She supposed that was the downside in not being connected by the brainstem.

Then again, there weren’t many people she’d invite to do that, and Eddie certainly wasn’t on that list.

“I guess I should call him back,” she said. She paused, though, hesitant to click his contact. “Did you get anything out of what he was saying?”

**He seemed like he was being listened to,** she observed.

“Up until the fourth message,” Dora noted, “when he called me by name.”

**Hm,** her symbiote said.

Dora tried to wrack her brain, but she had never been good with this type of thing. As easily as she could piece together a scientific puzzle, she was never good at mysteries, even the everyday kind where a person would tell you something by not telling you something. If more Agatha Christie novels hid messages in genome sequences, maybe she would’ve read them. But then again, she probably would have assumed the killer was a bird, instead of seeing that the bird’s genome sequence was tied to a secret cypher that spelled out the name of the murder weapon and yada yada yada. So, really, her previous observations were really all she could glean from Eddie’s words.

“I guess I should just call him back,” she reasoned. “That’s probably the easiest way to figure out what he’s going on about.”

Her symbiote silently agreed, and Dora put her phone to her ear.

“Hello?” Eddie said after a few rings. He sounded oddly casual.

“Um, hi, Eddie,” Dora said. “I saw that you called me.”

“Yep.”

“So, um. What’s going on?”

“It’s, uh… I think it’s better I tell you in person.”

“What?”

“I know, I know,” he said, obviously catching the annoyance in her tone. “But it’s not really something I should explain over the phone. So I’m gonna text you my location, and you… Well, I’m hoping you’ll stop by the dingy alleyway I’m hanging out in, because I could really use some help. And there’s also some stuff I think I gotta tell you.”

“Okay,” Dora said, and suddenly she was reminded of her chase earlier that day. “I also have something to tell you.” She remembered his own words, the on-the-spot code he had used in one of the voicemails, and to her surprise it made some sense to her. “Something about old friends,” she added.

“Oh, me too,” he said.

“Great,” she said through a false smile. “I’ll be there soon.”

She hung up before he could say anything else and put her phone against her head for a long moment.

**You could easily ignore him,** her symbiote suggested.

“I’m not going to do that,” she said. “Besides,” she added, “it sounded like his situation had something to do with us anyway.”

**Hm. At least have lunch.**

Dora sighed, picked up a handful of eggs from the carton, and shoved them all into her mouth like a rodent hoarding for the winter. They crunched deliciously between her teeth, even if the taste was less than desirable. Her stomach churned, threatening to upend the meal, but she kept it down with her newfound tolerance for foods that were raw and slimy.

“Alright,” she said, forcing the last bit of yolk down her throat. “Let’s see what the hell he got himself into now.”

* * *

As he turned another street corner, Eddie found himself experiencing a strange case of déjà vu. He had done this song and dance before, just about a week earlier, when an equally inept stalker had tracked him down around Mrs. Chen’s. That interaction had ended with the two of them becoming friendly acquaintances. Hell, they’d gone out to eat earlier that very day.

Something in his gut told him this pursuant wasn’t looking for any sort of friendship.

He turned down Polk Street, considering his options. Even without a symbiote, he was a fighter — although, he hadn’t really been on his usual weights regimen. Because of all the bullshit with his apartment, he’d resorted to one of his old methods, where he attached milk cartons to a sufficiently-sized pipe he’d found in the dumpster. Ziggy definitely wasn’t a fan of it, but he didn’t say anything. Which, yeah, maybe made Eddie a little bit of a dick, but he wasn’t about to give up his weightlifting for  _ anyone. _

He scratched the back of his neck. The hair standing up back there reminded him of the matter at hand. It would probably be best to avoid a fight with whoever this was. They obviously thought they were being sneaky, and he wasn’t about to disrupt that delusion for them. Yeah, if he let this creep follow him around for a bit, he might be able to glean what they were up to.

The pursuit continued for longer than he’d anticipated. He was followed for blocks, to the point where the whole thing was somehow even creepier than before. This person obviously wasn’t trying to find out where he lived, since that was pretty public knowledge now (another thing he could thank Carlton Drake for). So then, what was to gain? Were they waiting for Eddie to slip into a back alley where they could gut him and steal his wallet?

He couldn’t help but snort. What a waste of time that would be for everyone involved.

But it was a possibility. He was big in the public eye right now, and anyone who hadn’t done the proper research might assume he was getting some sort of revenue from all this press. But killing him right now would be a pretty big deal, what with his promised tell-all piece about the Life Foundation…

Oh.

Huh.

He stole a glance across the street. He met eyes with a woman — brunette, white, early forties or late thirties — dressed in an ill-fitting and ill-seasoned winter coat, the fur of the hood obscuring some of her facial features. As soon as she saw him, she touched two fingers to her left ear. Her mouth moved, but she was too far away for him to read her lips. His walk sped to a jog.

The woman across the street didn’t follow him, keeping her distance, just observing. But his ears were tuned to the sound of another pair of feet jogging across the San Francisco sidewalks.

Whoever this schmuck was, they were worse than Skirth.

His hand fumbled around his pockets for his phone. Gripping it tight in his hand, he slowed back down to a walk, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves.

“Hey, Doc,” he adlibbed. “I was just hoping we could do a, uh, a follow-up appointment. I mean, I just tried that run thing you mentioned, and I gotta say the pain is pretty bad.”

He made a motion of massaging a point just beneath his ribs.

“So, uh, call me back when you can,” he said. “I’d also really like to know if insurance covers all this, and uh… Yeah. Uh, talk to you soon.”

He hung up and shoved his phone back in his pocket, internally kicking himself in the shin for that shit performance he just did. What the hell was wrong with him? Was that summer acting course in the eighth grade all for nothing?

Why did he even call Skirth in the first place? She had a symbiote, sure, but she wasn’t about to reveal herself in broad daylight. She was smarter than that — they were  _ both _ smarter than that. At the very least, maybe she had some insight into what the hell was going on, since the longer he was followed, the more familiar the situation became.

Maybe he called to warn her. But then, warn her about  _ what, _ exactly? He didn’t even know what these creeps were after. And she could take them with much more ease than Eddie, who had been significantly de-powered since…

He clutched a hand to his chest, shirt balling up in his fist.

_ Maria, _ his note had said.

He called Skirth again. After an excruciating set of rings, it went to voicemail.

“Hey Doc,” he said, “me again. Just, uh, get back to me as soon as you can, because like I said, I really can’t afford to  _ run _ with all this pain.”

He hung up swiftly, hair on his neck standing to attention as he noticed those following footsteps were even closer than before. Instinctively his hands balled into fists. Either they were a shittier stalker than Eddie had previously thought, or this creep was getting ready for a confrontation.

His palms were sweating. It had been a while since he’d gotten into a proper fight — well, all on his own, at least. Anne had really steered him away from that shit, and even in the months after her dumping him he had generally kept away from physical conflict, even if there was the occasional drunken shoving match (which was usually separated before it could escalate).

The footsteps were farther away again. His fist unclenched, and he cringed at what an obvious tell it was. But at the very least it seemed to have been a false alarm, and this person was still keeping a safe observer’s distance from him.

But he’d been walking too long now, too. If this guy was stupid enough to have not figured him out yet (which they might be, considering how poor a job they were doing in being stealthy), they would if he didn’t have some sort of purpose soon. He turned into the first store he could, moving to study a three-month-early display of Valentine’s candy. His pursuant entered hardly a minute after him, signaled by the chime of the bell atop the door. He didn’t look up.

“Sir?”

He spun around, expecting to be met with the face of whoever was following him, but instead found himself face-to-collarbone with a terrifyingly tall teenage employee.

“Oh,” Eddie said. “Hi.”

He took a swift glance behind her, making brief eye contact with a man who was conspicuously checking the label on a pack of Twinkies. He looked back at the teen, replaying in his mind everything he could remember about the man: White. Bald. About his height. Maybe in his late 30s. He had some bulk under his oversized shirt, but didn’t seem to be very athletically built. Then again, looks could be deceiving, as that clichéd saying went.

“Can I help you?” the girl asked. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and for a moment Eddie noted the poor customer service, but then he noticed his own stance: his feet were spread apart, his shoulders tensed, his hands clenched. His face, he knew, was relatively neutral, but everything else screamed that he was on edge.

He un-tensed his body, and the girl’s stance, too, seemed to become a bit less threatening — or at least as non-threatening as a 6-foot-something redhead could get.

“No, I’m alright,” he said, plastering on one of his patented interview-charm smiles. “Just, uh, just looking around.”

“Alright,” she said, nodding. “Make sure to, uh…” It took a second until she remembered her script. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask me.”

He nodded back. “Sure thing.”

The girl nodded again, and Eddie took that as his chance to scuttle away from this undesirable conversation, which made him consider for a moment that he was less adroit with words than he’d previously thought. He considered that a lot, actually. He had always been better with a vague script, and even more verbose when he was fueled by anger, which was a big factor in how his interviews got him so popular.

Yeah,  _ popular, _ he thought, his hair standing on end when he again intuited his pursuant’s gaze on the nape of his neck. But he couldn’t attack him here, not with the security cameras, and not with the multitude of witnesses.

Eddie could try to shake him in here. It wasn’t an especially big store, but a few quick turns through the aisles could throw him off. Maybe he could talk his way into the employee bathroom, through some elaborate and embarrassing lie about food poisoning. The guy would have to leave eventually, either by his own fear of suspicion or because the employees were required to kick “loiterers” out of the establishment.

But there had been someone else watching him, back on the street. How many of them were there? This was unprofessional enough that it couldn’t be the government (and he hadn’t been anti-establishment enough to warrant any action from them yet), and it definitely wasn’t Drake’s old squadron, especially since almost all of them had been arrested and were awaiting trial. It was definitely an amateur observation operation, so there couldn’t be  _ that _ many people after him, right?

Probably enough, though.

He pulled out his phone again, dialed Skirth’s number, waited for the expected transfer to voicemail.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, ducking between the snack aisles, out of sight for just a moment. He kept his voice at a cautiously low volume. “Hey,” he said again, deciding to add a bit of friendly enthusiasm to his tone, just in case. “Maybe we could meet up sometime today, y’know?” He peeked out the aisle where he spotted his stalker, looking around confusedly for his target. He ducked back in as quickly as he had looked out. He’d been close. Close enough that Eddie could see his earpiece.

“Catch up on things,” Eddie whispered into his phone.

It had the distinctive symbol of two overlapping hexagons.

“Maybe even meet up with some other old friends, too.”

* * *

Dora twisted through the crowded sidewalks of the city, following the image of her phone’s map transmitted to her from her symbiote, who was following it from Dora’s inner coat pocket. It was much easier than having to look down at the screen every two seconds, even if this image transmission thing gave Dora a bit of a headache.

They decided to scrap the dual-vision idea after Dora bumped into her fifth or sixth pedestrian. She was trying to walk as fast as she could without looking like a weirdo, which was significantly harder when you were trying to focus on two perceptions at a time, all the while connecting the cartoony map on her cracked phone to the very real city around her.

“What do you think happened?” Dora whispered.

**Hopefully nothing that affects us.**

“At least then you wouldn’t consider it a waste of time,” she mumbled.

**He’s not even your** **_friend,_ ** **Dora.** (As if that had made a difference previously as to whether or not she gave Dora shit about helping people.)

“We shared a traumatic experience,” Dora said. “That means something. I think.”

**What does it mean?**

“I don’t know.” If she were a character in a book or a movie, they’d probably be romantically involved because of their shared symbiote experience. She shuddered at the thought.

Something in her stomach coiled into an angry knot.

Why, she wasn’t sure. Maybe because their goals insisted on being unaligned; because her symbiote insisted on selfishness; because as much as Dora could take her advice and look out for just the two of them she  _ couldn’t. _

Her grandmother had always talked to her about  _ chesed _ . Maybe it had stuck with her more than she’d thought.

Had she upheld that idea? Maybe she’d thought that her work at the Life Foundation had, in a way. And perhaps it did, really. They had developed cures and treatments for illnesses; they had saved lives with previously unheard of advances in medical science. But even then the treatments they had developed were expensive, inaccessible to some, and probably most difficult to get a hold of for the same people who would volunteer as their medical guinea pigs. Brock had written an article about that, actually, before he got hired for the Brock Report. She had skimmed it, then elected to ignore it. He didn’t understand the importance of what they were doing here, Drake had said.

“He has tunnel vision,” he had announced to his staff with calculated calmness, a hint of amusement seeping into his voice. “What people like him can’t understand is that what we are doing is bigger than him. We are advancing the human race beyond what he can comprehend, and that  _ scares  _ him. He fears what he cannot understand; he fears the type of progress that we promise, and that we will bring, no matter the cost. Because he cannot see the  _ bigger picture. _ ” He’d swung his arms out in a Christlike pose, gesturing to the entirety of their lab. “ _ This _ is big picture. The work we are doing here is going to save the human race from destruction, from suicide. Our goal has always been, and will always be, the betterment of our species, not just for select individuals but for all of us as a whole. And  _ that _ is what close-minded people like Brock refuse to understand — we are the future. We are  _ Life _ .”

It had been a good speech. He had certainly convinced Dora of his point, at that time. She retrospectively kicked herself for being sucked into such a load of pretentious bullshit.

**He was an interesting man.**

“He was an asshole.”

**That, too.**

She laughed despite herself.

**And a hypocrite,** she added.

Dora frowned. “I… Yeah, he was, but he… I think he really thought that your species with ours was going to save us all, somehow.”

**Then he was crazy.**

“Oh, no doubt about it.”

There was a pause in the conversation as Dora came to a crowded crosswalk, where she waited with an impatient tap of her foot for the light to change.

“Why did you decide to stay?” she blurted after they crossed.

**I told you, Dora.**

“I know,” she said, and she did. “I know. But I…” There was something gnawing at her gut. “Maybe I don’t understand.”

**What about it?**

“What did you stay for?”

**You,** she said simply.  **And the ocean,** she added, and usually Dora would chuckle at a statement like that from her symbiote, but that gnawing in her gut twisted again.

She had her symbiote check the time. Almost 1 o’clock.

“I hope this doesn’t take too long,” she mumbled, thinking of Abbey and Theo. They were going to have to take the bus back to Dawn’s house (which neither of them had done before, since Dora hadn’t been too keen on the lack of seat belts), and Dora wanted to be there before they were, or at least before Theo was.

**We don’t have to help him,** her symbiote offered as a solution.

“I know,” Dora said. She stuffed her hands deep into her pockets, choosing not to elaborate.

Her symbiote mirrored the silence. Dora continued straight down the sidewalk, mind whirling and stomach clenched tightly between an anxious fist. The simplicity of her mindset escaped Dora. That just because they weren’t close to Eddie meant that she shouldn’t try to help him, out of some goodness of her heart, or maybe even a vague sense of obligation, considering the fact that Venom had a part in saving all life on Earth from destruction. Was that something she’d be able to understand? Obligation? Debt? Or were those concepts too human to grasp?

She shook her head. Quieted her thoughts. She couldn’t focus on that right now. She couldn’t focus on the mess that stirred in her chest every time her symbiote would tell her,  **I did this for you** , like it was the most obvious thing in the world. She couldn’t take the time to decipher the layer of elation beneath her anger; all she could do was focus on the tasks ahead.

Help Eddie with whatever he was doing.

Get back to Dawn’s in time to welcome Abbey and Theo back home.

Check the status of her job applications. Look for more jobs. Apply for more jobs. Make dinner. Somewhere in the middle of that wait expectantly for a call from the veterinarian updating her about the status of the rabbit. Make sure Abbey and Theo do their homework. Make sure they get to bed on time, make sure everyone gets a good rest, wake up in the morning so they can go to school; rinse and repeat.

Maybe somewhere between all that she’d try to figure this out. She’d replay those foreign memories that elicited familiar aches. She’d wonder to herself why she had trusted her symbiote, and she wouldn’t come up with an answer, just a pounding in her chest and a noticeable fullness in the marrow of her bones.

Dora walked faster.

**Take a left,** her symbiote said.

* * *

At the first sight of that symbol, Eddie ducked back into the aisle, stomach dropping. He had been vaguely suspicious, but this just confirmed it. But what did the Life Foundation want with him? Revenge? That was the only thing he could think of, when nothing else made sense. He’d fucked them all over by killing their boss, and his upcoming exposé was going to put the icing on the cake of their ruined reputation (if the bodies in the backyard hadn’t already done so). Did they know Skirth was involved? She had been caught by Drake and his goons, and that’s why she even had the symbiote in the first place, so some of them must have known, if not all of them. How many of them knew about Eddie, in the sense that he’d…that it had…

He gulped down a lump in his throat.

Well, unsuccessfully. He could feel it rising still.

So he gulped again, this time with the intended results, and moved to the next aisle as soon as he had the chance. This place was likely to have a back exit that customers weren’t  _ technically _ supposed to use but that wouldn’t set off an alarm or get him banned for life. So he headed down the estimated direction, and to his luck there was a rusty old door labeled in capital letters as something that was specifically not an exit, but his intuition said otherwise. So when he was decently confident that no staff or stalkers were looking at him, he exited as casually as he could manage, getting an almost giddy feeling when he was out.

Then the door pretty much slammed behind him, and his stomach dropped.

“Fucking Christ,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

With a self-inflicted kick in the shin he shuffled away from the store as quickly as he could without looking suspicious (which wasn’t very quickly at all). It was busy around here today and he made out a multitude of footsteps, most of them approaching from in front of him and some of them from behind.

He cocked his head. No, he couldn’t make out that determined stalker-step from earlier. It had been amateur, synced with his own steps while hardly staying more than five feet away as he pursued Eddie. But over his time as a well-respected and well-hated journalist he had learned that even the best of followers could be detected if he focused hard enough — which, admittedly, was a little difficult to do when his whole body was jittering from anxiety. He’d been followed a few times before, once when he was little and stupid and probably almost kidnapped, and some more further into his adulthood, before and after a certain reporting fuck-up, and especially during times when he was more open on his show about his general disdain for the system, the oppressors, etc. He’d said it  _ much _ more eloquently on his show. He even used that rhetoric stuff from high school when discussing all his reasons for losing faith in so many aspects of modern America — not that that had stopped him the death threats from delusional upper-middle class-ers who thought that his hatred of money-hoarding billionaires was somehow directed at them.

So, yeah, he’d been followed before. But it had been a long time since he’d feared someone actually  _ doing  _ something. If some wacko came at him with a knife, he’d taken enough judo and boxing to mess that guy up, and even if he forgot his technique he was strong, almost surprisingly so, considering his build wasn’t quiet on par with the muscle-headed motorbikers you saw on TV. But he could hold his own, and he had before; he’d clocked his fair share of overconfident assholes in the face. But even then, it wasn’t often that he was in this situation. Usually  _ he _ was the one doing the following, what with his old job. It was always a little strange to be on the other end, but at the very least it was usually informative. Gave him a bit of a “do’s” and “don’ts” list.

But this was different. This wasn’t just one dude looking to slap him across the mug for sounding mildly communist; this was an organized and planned effort to do… _ something. _ He didn’t know what. Observe him? Capture him? Obtain some sort of sick revenge? Maybe they were all toying with him, and pretty soon they’d stop the theatrics and start to tear him limb from limb.

He could go up against one of them, but not multiple. He wasn’t a superhero. He wasn’t even… _ super _ anymore. He was a regular guy, and regular guys didn’t stand a chance against a mob of what were most likely highly specialized scientists, because even if he did have bigger muscles than them, they had numbers and brains and probably a cohesive plan to—

“Brock.”

He stopped in his tracks.

He had been about to turn the corner, but somehow he was there. The bald, perpetually pissed-off stalker with that patented Life Foundation earpiece on him, arms folded across his chest like a school principal about to tell off the entire student body. Yeah, he probably would’ve been good at that if the whole evil scientist thing hadn’t worked out. He had one of those faces Eddie was sure teens hated.

“Uh,” he answered, trying to keep his cool, “do I know you?”

“Not personally,” the man said. “But…I believe you’ve come up with an idea of who I am.”

Eddie gave him a once-over, thoughtfully tapping his chin. “Are you…an old fan of the show? You want an autograph, maybe? Or am I being self-centered?”

“Don’t play dumb, Brock,” the man said. “I just need you to come with me—” he began to unfold his arms “—and answer a few questions.”

One hand began to move toward his pocket, and that was the moment Eddie bolted, leaving all false pretense of ignorance behind. His legs carried him swiftly down the sidewalk, though he wasn’t sure where to except for  _ away. _ In his rush he almost made a collision with a couple walking hand-in-hand, swerving his body at the last moment so as not to break their hold. Behind him were fast-approaching footsteps, and then a crash and two aggravated yells, so Eddie could assume that his stalker wasn’t as careful as he was when it came to passersby.

He kept running, narrowly dodging other people on the crowded sidewalk, very nearly toppling over a baby stroller. He could hear annoyed shouts behind him, some of them obviously directed at him, and others delayed enough that he could surmise they were for his friend from the Foundation. The guy didn’t get into a lot of chases, that much was obvious; Eddie had experience in this field, having chased down a few robbers or even interviewees in his time. And yeah, he was fast. He went for runs when he could, and he used the local gym’s treadmill back when he had a membership. Athletics had always been his thing.

Unfortunately, this guy obviously hadn’t skipped out on his morning runs either. Whether he was fueled by adrenaline or athleticism, what he lacked in technique he made up for in speed. Listening to the sounds of footsteps and expletives, Eddie could tell he was catching up with him. Sweat was rolling down his back, but he sped up, pushing past a well-built man and shoving him in the general direction of his pursuant. He watched out of the corner of his eye as the man tumbled and crashed into the stalker, both of them stumbling to try and keep their balance after their collision. At this chance Eddie took a turn, cutting through the alley between his favorite Chinese and Italian restaurants (within his budget, that is).

He heard footsteps behind him as he emerged.

“ _ Shit, _ ” he cursed under his breath.

He skidded at another sharp turn, bounding into the street and in front of cars with the hope in his mind that no one was looking to test the extents of their insurance today. Cars screeched to a stop as he ran across, drivers leaning heavily on their horns. The sound rang in his ears, his muscles convulsing, his strides turning to stumbles. He covered his ears and knocked into a group of women with shopping bags, their items sprawling across the ground. His shoes stomped down on a stray tube of lipstick, almost resulting in a real fall. One of the women screeched in horror, and Eddie was reminded of Anne lamenting over the expenses of makeup. But he was already a good few feet away from them when it occurred to him that he should apologize or even compensate them, and even then he didn’t have the time  _ or _ money.

He heard another yelp behind him and looked back to see that his pursuant had pushed one of the women to the side, her friend barely stopping her from slamming into the glass of the nearby storefront.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie huffed, picking up the pace further, his muscles screaming at this point. There was no way he was gonna outrun this weirdo, not in his state. He  _ had _ been slacking recently when it came to running, mostly focusing on muscle work and not endurance, and even then he tended to work on his arms more than his legs. His lungs were ready to give out at this point.

A traitorous thought formed in his mind. If only he had an advancement. If only he could be stronger, faster, bigger. If only he had the ability to not only run, but to turn back and fight, to tear through the fucker and give his friends the message not to mess with Eddie Brock. But even in his panicked state he knew there wasn’t any point in starting a fight in broad daylight, not when every cop in the city hated his guts.

And he knew he couldn’t be stronger now.

Not anymore.

His gut clenched. He shook his head. It wasn’t  _ right _ . It wasn’t then, it wasn’t now; he shouldn’t even be  _ thinking _ of…

He rounded another corner, forcing those thoughts out of his mind. He could hear his stalker close behind. He wouldn’t be able to outrun him on pure brawn alone. He’d have to be smart about this, employ some strategy. The sidewalks hadn’t slowed him down much, but maybe he could lose him somewhere more crowded. He looked around for somewhere, anywhere, and after a few more turns his eyes caught on the Trader Joe’s. That place was always a mess of over exhausted mothers trailing their almost equally exhausted kids; hipsters who appreciated the aesthetic of the place; and people who were looking to eat more organic foods but didn’t want to spend their entire paycheck at Whole Foods. Eddie hadn’t shopped there since his health food phase in college, which had quickly died when he was forced to focus more on his career. Well, maybe he’d stopped by there with Anne once or twice, but he always got the hairy eyeball from one of the other customers, which really didn’t make him inclined to visit again.

Still he swerved himself through the sliding doors, knocking shoulders with a very tired-looking man. Eddie turned to look behind him and saw his stalker still on his trail, as well as a look on the tired man’s face that seemed to suggest murderous intent. They worked in tandem to motivate him into running again, through the second set of automatic doors and into the mercifully crowded supermarket (this being the first time he was actually  _ happy _ at the prospect of a crowded store).

He soon heard those now-familiar pursuing footfalls, which meant that he had to enact his plan to shake this guy off his tail.

The only problem being that he didn’t have a plan.

But hey, that had never stopped him before.

His eyes darted around the store for something to grab, quickly landing on one man’s near-empty shopping cart, which only contained a box of organic veggie pasta and a bag of vegan chips seated on the flip-up portion of the cart. Eddie made a B-line for it and charged against the handle while the man was busy inspecting cheeses. He did, of course, notice the sweaty weirdo stealing his cart, to which he responded to with a quiet, “Wha?”

“Sorry!” Eddie called back, taking out the man’s pasta and chips and chucking them both behind his back in an approximation of where the guy was.

He swerved the cart into an aisle, which to his luck was filled with organic canned goods. He toppled a collection of canned soups behind him, hearing them clatter and roll like an army of Chef Boyardees. Then after a few seconds there was a crash and a string of curses, and Eddie looked back to see his favorite sprightly stalker scowling at him. He waved back with a friendly smile, then turned to focus on the tiled road ahead. Out of the aisle, he was quickly approaching a crowd of shoppers surrounding a table of free samples. He looked over his shoulder and saw that he was unfortunately still being pursued, though with a bit more distance between.

Okay,  _ think, _ Eddie willed himself. He couldn’t barrel his cart into a bunch of innocent people; he’d already caused enough chaos as it was. And while he had been hoping to do this at a moment where his stalker was a bit farther away, he didn’t have much else he  _ could _ do right now.

He skidded to a halt, pivoting to turn himself toward his pursuant, who made a small and confused falter in his steps. Seeing this Eddie pushed, and watched the cart crash into the man, knocking him into a display of oranges, all of which dropped onto the ground and rolled away in practically every direction. Eddie’s stomach twisted into a combination of pride and guilt; he found that he was supremely satisfied with the dumbfounded and pained look on his stalker’s face, while the same expression of workers watching the oranges roll away almost immediately counteracted that.

But he couldn’t stand there and watch. He pushed through the crowd of samplers, whose attention was temporarily taken off the free cheese and crackers and instead pinned on the man who had just been barreled over by a shopping cart. They seemed to have somehow been too invested in their samples to notice that Eddie had been the driving force behind said cart; all except for a teenage girl who grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. He returned the gesture on instinct, accompanied by an awkward smile, before ducking into another aisle. Inside was a scruffy-looking employee who looked to have been in the middle of restocking the chips when the commotion interrupted him.

“What in the— Sir, do you know what’s going on over there?”

“Uh,” Eddie said, slowing to a stop, “I think this guy was trying to shoplift, something like that — then someone rolled a cart at him before he could bolt. Real scary-looking dude; bald and bulky, not the type I’d wanna mess with.”

“Oh, geez,” the employee said. “Alright. Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” Eddie said, moving past him and out of the aisle, and then decisively bounding out the doors and back onto the street. That should buy him a little time, at least; with any luck, the guy was injured and a genuine suspect for a crime, both of which should be sufficient hindrance to let Eddie get the hell away from him.

But now that he had a second to catch his breath, the adrenaline was wearing off. His lungs were weak and his legs were crying out in pain. He had to find a place where he could actually breathe. This guy obviously wasn’t going to give up on chasing Eddie, so somehow he had to get him to lose interest. He swiveled his head, assessing the area, and saw an alley up ahead. He broke into a light jog, stopping at the area’s entrance. Thin, dark, damp: it was a shining example of age-old classic Murder Alley. The type that Bruce Wayne’s parents got shot in, or that other kids’ moms always warned them about staying clear of.

“Don’t be an idiot,” his father always told him. And other variations, all with increasingly more insulting and outdated synonyms for whatever Carl Brock considered unbecoming of his son.

“Use your brain,” his sister had told him, a kinder parroting of their father’s words.

He could keep going, even with his exhausted body. But if that guy caught up to him, what would happen? Murder? Dissection? Brainwashing? There was no way to say for sure. Dora wasn’t picking up his calls, and even if she did she probably wouldn’t have any insight on the plans of her former colleagues. But Dora had a symbiote, and the two of them would be able to take on fifty Life Foundation freaks without a problem (even if they probably wouldn’t, not in the sight of so many people). As it stood right now, Eddie doubted he could competently take on this  _ one _ freak.

Hiding was his best option. This guy was obviously persistent, motivated by something that warranted the risks of shopping carts and lipsticks and failed trailer missions.

He shuffled into the dim alley, darkened by the shadows of the surrounding buildings. It was a little shallow for Eddie’s liking, and it didn’t pass completely through. It ended a wall, near which there were a few rancid trash cans and one infrequently flickering light.

_ Looks like a goddamn horror movie, _ he thought to himself.

He leaned against a wall and slid down to the ground a few inches from one of the trash cans, which would help to block him from sight at least somewhat.

His body was un-tensing, but anxiety still coursed through his bloodstream. Did anybody see him duck in here? There had been someone else — that woman across the street — watching him before. How many more people were monitoring him? How the hell did they manage this organization? Were they affiliated with the government? No, no, he’d already seen how unprofessional they were, too much so to be a legitimate operation. Obviously they were from the Life Foundation, but Eddie couldn’t understand what they’d gain from killing him. Their organization had already gone down the drain, and what Eddie did or didn’t write about it wouldn’t change that it was gone forever — the bodies in the backyard pretty much guaranteed that. So then what—

He froze.

There were footsteps. Close.

A muffled voice. Familiar.

His hands shook. The steps passed further, then stopped. Quaking, Eddie reached for his phone. No replies from Skirth. His blood boiled. What the hell was wrong with her?

Fingers now vibrating more with anger than with fear, he dialed her again. Predictably and disappointingly, it went to voicemail. He fumed.

“Skirth!” he hissed, keeping his voice low. “Where are you? Why aren’t you picking up?” He opened his mouth to continue, but snapped it shut when he heard footsteps again.

Walking back toward the alley.

His head was spinning. “Listen,” he said, panicked, “I need you to get here right fucking now, or else I might be fucking done for!”

The footsteps stopped, right before his shitty hiding spot behind the trash can. He hurriedly hung the phone up, anxiety far from alleviated when he heard that voice greet him..

“Brock,” it said, and it was him, his stalker. “I know you’re here.”

Eddie got to his feet. There was no point in hiding. He’d’ve been found either way.

“Good to see you again,” he said.

“Likewise,” the man said without sincerity. He reached a hand into his pocket. “Now,” he said, “let’s try this again.”

* * *

The location Eddie had sent led past the Trader Joe’s, which upon brief inspection looked to be in a state of complete disarray. There was a police officer standing by the entrance, talking with an overworked middle-aged man who was angrily pinching the bridge of his nose.

**That seems significant,** her symbiote said, referencing the officer’s pencil and notepad.

“We’ll check the local news later,” Dora muttered, briefly crossing to the opposite sidewalk to avoid the chaos. Crossing back she found that the location led to an alley, as Eddie had mentioned in his call, which even in the afternoon sun was dark enough that she couldn’t see all the way down it. She felt her symbiote buzzing under her skin, preparing to crawl out of her pores and surround her in a protective shell.

**Be careful,** she advised.

Dora nodded. Eddie’s calls hadn’t seemed quite real until this moment, when the oppressive darkness of the alley almost threatened to swallow her whole if she entered. He’d been freaked out by whatever was going on, and Dora was starting to feel the effects of his panic rubbing off on her, her heart beating rapidly against her ribcage.

A sliver of symbiote wrapped around her wrist, comforting even amid their own inner turmoil. Dora took a breath, and she entered.

Her eyes almost immediately adjusted, and she clapped her hands over her mouth to stop herself from screaming.

The alleyway was a scene of carnage. There was blood splattered against the walls, and a mangled corpse lay on the ground, its flattened face twisted into the unmistakable expression of pure terror. Blood was still leaking from its eyes and its nose and even its throat, which looked like it had been torn open by a wild animal.

And above the corpse stood a man, hands stained a dark red, and face so dripping with blood that Dora couldn’t recognize a single feature.

“Oh,” he said. “Hey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh man it's been awhile!! hopefully this extra long chapter makes up for that.


	7. New Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unfortunate culmination of Eddie's confrontation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big violence/gore warning for this chapter!!

“Listen,” his stalker said. His eyes gleamed with malice. “This doesn’t have to be difficult. You just have to cooperate with me.”

“Cooperate?” Eddie repeated, painfully aware of the solid brick wall which his back was pressed against. “What is it you want me to do?”

The man’s hand was still in his pocket. Eddie didn’t dare take his eyes off it.

“It’s simple, really,” the man said. “I just need you to hold still.”

His hand finally emerged from his pocket, where between his thumb and forefinger he had ready a syringe, which swirled with some sort of reflective substance. Eddie couldn’t quite make it out in the dark.

He stepped forward, and something inside Eddie told him he couldn’t let this creep get any closer. In an instant his heart rate spiked and he lunged forward, one hand gripping his wrist, the other flailing wildly, thumb catching on the man’s mouth. The force of it tore through the flesh of his cheeks, blood spewing onto Eddie’s hand as he stumbled forward, reestablishing his sense of balance by latching onto the man’s ear. The man screeched in surprise, but that didn’t last long. He brought a knee to Eddie’s stomach and he doubled over in pain, which the man took as an opportunity to shove him away.

“This doesn’t have to be _difficult,_ Brock!” the man shouted, blood dripping down his chin. “Just _cooperate._ This doesn’t have to be difficult. Just—”

He was cut off as Eddie barreled into him, expecting them both to slam to the floor. But his stalker held his ground, only stumbling back before grabbing Eddie by the collar of his shirt and lifting him up. Eddie watched in horror as the wound in his mouth began sewing itself back together, only for the strands of tissue to falter and burst back into bloody pieces.

“What the hell?” Eddie said, for lack of a better question.

“You should’ve just listened, Brock,” the man said. “It would have been so much easier for both of us.”

He lifted the syringe, and all it took was one look at the needle approaching his neck for everything to go to shit.

It happened faster than he could process. With one hand he grabbed the arm holding him up, digging his nails into the flesh, clenching down on skin and muscle and bone as hard as he possibly could. His other hand lashed out, grabbing the syringe between his fingers and crushing the glass into shards. Whatever was in there dropped to the ground. With pieces of glass stuck into his skin, Eddie added to his grip on the man’s arm, who cried out in pain as the shards ripped through his skin. He instinctively pulled away, and with a crunchy _pop_ the glass was torn out of Eddie’s skin, bits of blood flying from his wounds, the rest dripping down the lines of his palm.

His stalker roared in anger, charging toward him. Eddie could almost hear his heart racing — both of them, both of their hearts, Eddie’s and his stalker’s, pumping blood through every vein, warm and dark and full of fear and anger and—

Eddie surged forward, teeth catching on the man’s throat, tearing wetly through flesh and then crunching down on a thin bone, and finally catching on something gooey and something stringy and rearing back, tearing it all out in one swift movement. He stumbled back, spitting the mess of gore onto the ground, watching as the man opened his mouth to scream, only for a low gurgling to come out.

The hole in his throat was pulsing, spitting blood, and then seemed to reach out. Like the tear on his cheek, strange and web-like imitations of flesh and muscle and fat began to reach out like thin, insectoid arms. For brief moments they would connect, only to shudder and burst into mangled lumps of blood and skin.

His stalker, despite his injury, maintained a determined look of anger. He stepped forward again, readying himself to try another attack. Eddie bared his bloodied teeth, clenching his fists and widening his legs into a pose adjacent to what he’d learned in boxing.

“Yeah? You still wanna fuck with me?” he said, spitting blood that didn’t belong to him with each syllable. “C’mon, fucking try it!”

His stalker looked more than ready to accept his challenge, but suddenly his face contorted from anger to terror. His whole body began to vibrate, and Eddie could only stand and watch in horror as something silvery emerged from his throat, reflecting what little light shone into the alley. Eddie heard a faint screech, and looked down to see the substance from the syringe twisting and turning, pitifully crawling towards the man. The thing emerging from the hole in his throat thinned until it was stretched far enough to scoop up the substance, which slipped effortlessly inside its form.

It didn’t even seem to notice Eddie was there. It just scrunched itself back up and then wrapped itself around his stalker’s throat like a noose. He gurgled and struggled against it, but it didn’t relent. It forced his body back, back, and then leaned him forward to slam him head into the wall. Again, and again, and again, and again, until his stalker’s face wasn’t much more than a flattened, bloodied image of a skull, which collapsed to the ground with one final wet crunch.

The thing in his throat writhed and screeched, and then just as quickly as it had appeared it was gone, crumbling into ash-like bits that stuck to the splatters of blood and sweat and spit that had decorated the alleyway.

Everything was still.

And looking down at the scene in front of him, Eddie asked, “What the hell did he do?”

And looking down at his red hands, he asked, “What the hell did _I_ just do?”

* * *

“You’re telling me you don’t know where either of them are?”

“I lost sight of them. Williams confronted him, and then they started running…”

“Jesus _Christ_.”

The figure stood in the dark, always having found it easier to think when visual stimuli were rendered unavailable. They stood, one hand to their ear, the other pinching the bridge of their nose so hard that just their thumb and forefinger threatened to snap the cartilage.

“…and now, yes, I’ve lost track of them both, and Williams isn’t answering when I’ve tried to reach him.”

“He had the _sample_ ,” they said, beginning to pace.

“I’m _aware._ We’re all aware. But that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t—”

“I can’t blame you for this, I know,” they said. “This is his own fault.”

And silently they asked themself, how could he be so selfish? This was bigger than any of them, and in one idiotic action he had risked throwing it all away. And for what, the figure didn’t understand. Glory? Satisfaction? If only he’d stuck to the plan, then they would still have the sample…

“Thanks,” the woman on the other line said. Her eye-roll was palpable even miles apart.

“We can’t let Williams ruin this,” they continued, choosing to ignore the woman’s sarcastic expression of gratitude. “His actions mean that Brock could figure things out, and that would be detrimental to our operation.”

“So what do you suggest we _do_?”

They sighed. “Well,” they said, “depending on the outcome of today…”

The figure switched on the lights, flooding the room with fluorescence that echoed beautifully off the reflective form of their specimen. Its form swirled angrily in its container, smashing against the glass in a fruitless attempt to escape. The figure approached it with complete calm, pulling a vial from their pocket. The creature’s movements became more frantic.

“…we may have to kill him.”

* * *

Eddie, upon processing the reality before him, did what any sane person would do, and freaked the hell out.

“Holy shit,” he said. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.”

There was blood and meat and bits of bone and those ash-like flecks all littering the alleyway, all of it evidence of death, of whatever the _fuck_ had just happened here.

His hands were trembling. His heart was still racing, but his body was no longer in an adrenaline-fueled frenzy; the numb aggression he had been feeling had faded away, leaving behind the sudden pain of his recent injuries. His palm was throbbing, still dripping blood from where the glass had punctured his flesh; his stomach ached from where he had been kneed, and he was sure that a large bruise would form in at least a few days, but for now hoped there wasn’t any internal bleeding. The guy really hadn’t hit him that hard, so he found it a bit unlikely, but considering how his day was going, it was possible.

He looked down at the man’s corpse, slumped face-down on the ground, blood still trickling from his body. Eddie’s hands shook more intensely, and he looked away, eyes falling on the broken tip of the syringe, the edges of which were stained with blood from when he broke it. Finding that easier to stomach than the corpse, he knelt down and leaned in to inspect it. His prints were probably already all over it, but he still avoided touching it, because maybe that would help him not go to jail. Maybe.

There was a smudged label, a glossy sticker that had been scribbled on with Sharpie. It looked to be seven digits, most of them unreadable except for the first three, which looked to read two-four-nine. The last digit was either a five or a six, but the already messy handwriting hadn’t been helped by the struggle between Eddie and his attacker.

He had told himself not to touch it, not to incriminate himself further, but in a moment of either clarity or insanity he stuffed it in his jacket pocket, careful not to damage it further. It bumped against his phone, and he sighed, resigning to try Skirth again.

It went to voicemail. Unsurprising.

His heart was still thumping erratically, but a strange sense of calm had washed over him as he stared at the corpse. It was still leaking blood at an alarming rate, and in his crouched position Eddie had to scoot back so the blood wouldn’t stain his shoes.

“Hey, Skirth,” he said, surprising himself at how even his voice was. “Sorry about all this cryptic bullshit,” he continued, figuring that once she got to these messages that she wouldn’t exactly appreciate them. “I’m just, uh, panicking just a bit. I think you’d understand if you…well, I guess we both have, but this…” Unfortunately they’d both committed a multitude of homicides, now that he thought about it. But that had been… He hadn’t…

He shook his head. “Um. Nevermind. But, uh, seriously. I need you to call me back.”

He hung up and stuffed his cell back into his pocket, plastic clinking against glass. He looked down at his hands and realized they were still covered with fresh blood. His outfit was black, for the most part, aside from his jeans, so it wasn’t too obvious.

Standing up, he looked down at his legs. They had been splattered with bright red splotches of blood, mixed in with chunks of gore that were frankly unrecognizable as anything originating from a human being. He cringed.

“‘Not too obvious’ my ass,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his leg in an attempt to unstick some of the bits of muscle and fat clinging to his clothes.

His attempts proving futile, he sighed and turned his attention to the dead body laying flat on the ground of an alley. He stepped closer, accepting the fact that his shoes were now wading in the lengthy, shallow puddle of blood originating from somewhere around the man’s face — or maybe his neck, Eddie thought with a wince. He could still taste his flesh between his teeth.

He reached over, turning the man onto his back with a tough push of his knuckles. He closed his eyes, gagging at the smell and the look and the way the body sloshed as it turned and how something in his neck was still pulsing and making a sound like the stirring of a thick liquid in a pot—

He turned and retched, barely holding down the bile growing in his throat. After a few moments and deep breaths he was able to turn back, taking a full look at the reality before him: the face had been flattened until all that remained were the remnants of his skull, the holes of his nose crunched to be concave, his eyes somewhere popped and splattered among the mess of flesh and cartilage and blood that hid the corpse’s other features.

But the worst part of it was the _neck_ , insides laid bare, still quivering in death. Certain meaty sections made the occasional spurt of blood, and Eddie could all but taste it. His teeth ached as he stared deeper into the hole, where he could see something like the lining of the esophagus, and the white-ish strands of torn cartilage and tissue, trailing from the tooth-marked wound that formed a testament to Eddie’s violence.

He closed his eyes. Took a breath. Turned his attention to the corpse’s ear, which was thankfully less bloody than the rest of him, but had still been mangled beyond recognition, more a flopping bundle of flesh now than anything resembling a human organ. And inside it still was that Life Foundation earpiece, similarly maimed into nothing but a bunch of broken bits of plastic, some of which had managed to bury themselves in his flesh.

“Dammit,” he muttered. He had been mildly hoping that this guy’s technology would at least survive, and maybe give him some sort of lead. But then again, maybe it was better that it broke. It could probably be used for tracking, right? Eddie had never been very good with technology, but that was definitely something the Life Foundation was capable of — hell, even an organization with less advanced tech had stuff with that functionality by now.

He stood, looking down numbly at the destruction before him. Most of the horror had worn off, leaving in its wake an intense tug of curiosity. Part of him was tempted to dig around in the corpse’s open throat, just to see if there might be some sort of hint about what that _thing_ that killed him was.

Not that he didn’t already have an idea.

Not that he didn’t already _know._

But the problem was that it didn’t make any _sense._ There had only been four, right? Three of them were dead, and the other was bonded to Dora.

He swiped some of the remnants off the corpse’s face. What remained of _it_ were just dark ember-like flakes and some grainy bits of what seemed like soot.

It wasn’t as if he’d seen one of them die, really. At least, not under this type of circumstance. But it didn’t seem right, somehow. Something in him — intuition, he supposed — was telling him that this wasn’t how it worked.

What brought Eddie out of his thoughts was the ringing of his phone, which when he took it out of his pocket he noticed was also smeared with blood. It was Dora, finally, and her voice on the other line made him remember the reality of what had just happened.

“I could really use some help,” he told her. “And there’s also some stuff I think I gotta tell you.”

* * *

“Eddie?” Dora said. Her symbiote had already wrapped protectively around her under her clothes, and she could feel her on her wrists, ready to attack should anyone make a wrong move.

The bloodied figure chuckled nervously. “Ha. Yeah, it’s me.”

“Your…your _face_.”

“What?” He touched a finger to his cheek. “Oh. Is there blood there, too? How did I not…” He shook his head. “Okay, that’s not what’s important right now.”

“Not what’s important?” Dora repeated. “Look at you! Look _underneath_ you! This is a crime scene!”

“I know, I know,” he said, stepping over the corpse toward Dora. “That’s why I called you—”

A tendril shot from her arm, knocking him in the chest. He stuttered to a stop, hands going up as if on instinct. The tip of the tendril receded and twisted, morphing into the familiar face of Dora’s symbiote.

 **“Don’t come any closer,”** she warned. And although their current argument might make Dora inclined to protest, she couldn’t really say that she wanted Eddie anywhere near her right now.

“Okay,” he said. “Fair enough. Message received.”

She squinted at him, her ever-present smile faltering into something close to a snarl, and then finally receded back into Dora’s sleeve.

“Thanks,” Dora whispered, more out of habit than anything, but still the insistently irate swirling in her stomach ceased for a moment, overcome instead by a warmth that inclined her to smile.

Eddie stared at her.

“Sorry,” she said, wiping the smile away. “Just…tell me what happened.”

“Well,” he said, “I noticed I was being followed. And by someone really unprofessional. Gave me déjà vu, actually.”

Her symbiote growled, the sound bouncing angrily against the dome of her skull. **If he’s rude to you again, I’ll tear out his spine.**

“He was just joking,” Dora whispered. “Calm down.”

“Uh,” Eddie said. “Um. Anyway, I tried to lose him, but he was pretty persistent. He cornered me in here and I…” He gulped, scratching at a cut along the lines of his palm. “I defended myself.”

Dora looked down at the corpse, with the gaping tooth-marked hole in its throat and its disgusting flattened skull, and she decided not to say anything.

“Oh, but here’s the crazy part,” Eddie said. “Get this: he had an earpiece—” he gestured over to the corpse’s ear, as if Dora was close enough to see the details of it “—with the Life Foundation symbol on it.”

“What?” Dora said, instinctively stepping closer. As she did, her symbiote surrounded her shoes in a coat of blue, which she was immediately thankful for when she heard the wet sloshing of blood under her feet.

“You, uh, can’t see it,” he said. “It broke.”

“It broke?” Dora repeated. She recalled the resilient nature of Life Foundation tech. She had used an earpiece, maybe once, when she had been in the lab while one of her colleagues observed test subjects “in the field” (the field being the parking lot, where those people were asked to do a plethora of menial physical tasks). Drake, ever the performer, had taken the care to demonstrate the earpiece before anyone used it.

“Its range covers almost half the city,” he’d said. “And thanks to all of you, it’s practically unbreakable.” She and her colleagues had clapped, despite the fact that none of them were even close to being the engineers responsible. Drake tended to outsource those jobs, sending blueprints from secret providers to the even more secret manufacturers.

“Watch,” he’d said, and then demonstrated the earpiece being beaten repeatedly in an almost comical manner. It was crushed by hammers, stomped under feet, chewed on by lab animals, and finally came out of it all with hardly a scratch.

“It broke,” Eddie said again, and it took everything in Dora’s power not to punch his blood-soaked face.

“How?”

He pointed to the wall. “When his head got smashed—”

A tendril shot out and pushed him to the side, and Dora stepped over the corpse to closer inspect the wall. And as promised, there was a distinctly face-shaped dent that evidenced some blunt head trauma. She didn’t really have to be a medic or a detective to figure that out.

**He couldn’t have done this.**

“He tore a man’s throat out with his teeth,” Dora whispered. “I think his thyroid is in the corner.”

 **Teeth are one of humans’ stronger assets.** She phrased it almost like a compliment. **But you have no assets alone strong enough for this much damage.**

Dora reached out and touched the dent. There were traces of gore left behind, mostly blood, but some of it looked to be the remnants of flesh.

“You did this?” she asked, teetering the line between question and statement.

“What?” he said. “No, no, I didn’t— I bit his neck, that was that… _thing_.”

Dora spun around. “What ‘thing’?”

“This— It looked like a symbiote, but it couldn’t’ve been. The rest are dead.” His eyebrows knit together. “Right?”

“What did it look like?”

Eddie squinted at her. “Silver. Like mercury.”

Her shoulders relaxed somewhat. She hadn’t realized they had been so tense. “Okay. That crosses A03 off the list, I guess, but then it doesn’t give us any other insight…”

“A03? Uh, which one was that?”

“Oh, you didn’t ever meet it,” she said. “It has a mostly yellow-and-black coloration. It used to be bonded to a rabbit, but now it’s…somewhere else.”

Eddie gawked at her. “You don’t know where it is?”

“We chased it,” she explained. “It slipped away. But it brought us to a church.” The framed image of Emerson flashed in her mind. “An old colleague of mine…he was being mourned there.”

“Oh,” Eddie said, some of his edge slipping away. “I’m sorry,” he said, and reached out a comforting hand which was firmly held in place by the blue tentacle that shot out of Dora’s side.

 **“Where is it?”** she demanded before receding, ever careful about showing herself.

“Where’s _what_?”

“The symbiote,” Dora said. “The silver thing, whatever it was. You didn’t say what happened to it.”

“Yeah, sorry, my brain’s a bit fried.” He chuckled amiably, but stopped abruptly when he saw the lack of amusement on Dora’s face. “Uh, but it…” He trailed off, making an uninterpretable motion with his hands. He stopped, took a breath, and pointed with one finger down at the corpse. “It was inside him. It was inside this syringe he had, and he tried to stab me with it, but then I broke it and bit him and it just _appeared,_ and it smashed his head against the wall, and then it just…” He paused again, one bloodied hand moving upward to clutch at his shirt, staining the chest with red. “It just _crumbled._ And all it left behind was this stuff that looks like ash.”

“Does that happen?” Dora asked.

Eddie opened his mouth to answer before he seemed to understand, snapping his jaw shut with a hint of embarrassment on his wholly red face.

 **No,** she said. **My species doesn’t die like that. A corpse is left behind, like in yours.** She swirled somewhere within her ribs. **And an immediate death after the host is killed is…unusual.**

“Are you sure it was a symbiote?” Dora asked, this time addressing Eddie.

“Not one-hundred percent,” he admitted. “But I don’t know what else it could’ve been.”

“Hm,” she said, and didn’t offer further commentary. She crouched down next to the corpse, where upon closer inspection she could see the ashy flakes Eddie had mentioned. Most of them were centered around the neck, where Eddie had evidently torn through the guy’s throat.

“It almost looks like spontaneous combustion,” she mumbled.

 **But it didn’t combust,** her symbiote interjected. **It ‘crumbled.’**

“Hm,” she said again. She picked one of the larger flakes off the corpse’s chin — or what was left of it, at least. A bit of blood and something that almost looked like mucus followed in its trail, but her symbiote sliced the strands away.

 **I can hold that,** she offered, and Dora nodded and marveled as a hole opened in the palm of her hand, the skin splitting painlessly apart and caving inward to form a pocket. One thin tendril reached out, wrapping around the flake and pulling it inside the makeshift storage. Her skin sealed again, and she flexed her fingers experimentally, just to see if she could feel anything. There was a vague weight inside her hand, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was like when your keys are in your pant pocket — you’re aware of them, you feel them, but they’re easy to forget about until it’s time for them to be used again.

Eddie cleared his throat, and Dora realized how long she must have been marveling at her palm.

**He’s very alike to the keys.**

Despite herself, she snorted. “That’s rude,” she whispered, chest surging with a swirl of mixed emotions.

She shook her head, which for the moment tucked those feelings deep behind her lungs, where they just barely ghosted their grip against her breath as she turned to address Eddie.

“It looked a bit like that,” he said, gesturing to her hand. “When I—” He cringed. “When he got hurt, it was like he was trying to heal, but it kept just…” He made a motion with his hands to imitate an explosion. “Over and over.”

Dora creased her brow, and her symbiote emanated a similar feeling of confusion through their bond.

“Maybe it had some sort of mutation,” she suggested. “Maybe it was a different kind of symbiote. A _cousin_ , or something. Or it could have been maladjusted to human anatomy. Does that ever happen?”

**Rarely.**

“But it’s possible.”

**Yes. But it’s unlikely.**

“Wouldn’t we have noticed if _another_ alien species invaded Earth?” Eddie interjected.

“Not necessarily. Our aliens have been a surprisingly well-kept secret.” She glanced at the body, holding back a criticizing remark about Eddie’s help in sustaining that status as _secret._

Eddie shook his head. “But the Life Foundation was in control of that invasion. In a sense, I mean. And how would this guy have a new species so soon without you knowing?”

Dora sighed. “Yes, you’re right. But we can’t rule out the possibility.”

“Right, okay, yeah,” he said. “And, uh, as much as I want to figure out what the fuck is going on, I’m looking around, and…”

He raised his hands up. Blood dripped down from his palms to his wrists, soaking his sleeves and his skin a conspicuous maroon.

He laughed nervously. “You ever seen _How to Get Away with Murder_?”

“Uh. No.”

He exhaled heavily. “Yeah,” he said, looking down at the pool of blood they were both standing in. “Me either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: okay i don't think i'm gonna continue this for a multitude of reasons, mostly because venom is no longer my hyperfixation, but also because i'm really dissatisfied with my writing so i just wanna move on to other stuff :0 sorry gang, thank u to everyone who commented and kudos'd!!!! means the world 2 me


End file.
